


Like Magic

by KangarooKen, NotGra55 (Gra55)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bigotry & Prejudice, Crushes, Dream Smp, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Gay, Gryffindor!Sapnap, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Minecraft, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ravenclaw!George, Slow Build, Slow Burn, dreamnotfound, slytherin!dream, what am I doing writing this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 161,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27004996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KangarooKen/pseuds/KangarooKen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gra55/pseuds/NotGra55
Summary: “Don’t you get it?” Dream said to him in an excited whisper, eyes alight with joyous realization. “You—you’re magical, George!”“What does that mean?”“It means you’re like me!”When George first met the tall, freckled child who called himself Dream, he thought the other boy was bonkers. Strange clothes, a foreign accent, a closely-guarded secret — what was George supposed to make of his new next-door neighbor?Despite the newcomer’s strangeness, the two boys quickly forge a friendship. George soon realizes that he and Dream have a lot more in common than he first thought.//Dreamnotfound Hogwarts AU//
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 1969
Kudos: 3735





	1. Chapter One || Before

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory RPF persona warning and shit. I really should not be writing this because I have midterms soon but oh well. Have a DNF Hogwarts AU

George was six years old when it first happened. 

“Mum _, please_! I don’t want to go!” he pleaded with tearful brown eyes, clinging to his mother’s leg as if his life depended on it. Around them, other children were saying their goodbyes to parents and guardians as cheerful teachers escorted the young students into the brightly-colored school building. 

“Heavens, George! It’s only a few hours!” George’s mother exclaimed as she attempted to pry her son’s fingers from her thigh. Unfortunately for her, George’s grip only tightened.

“No! _Please,_ Mum, _please_ don’t leave me!” the little boy continued to sob while his mother shot apologetic glances at the patient school staff.

“I’m really sorry,” she said to her son’s waiting teaching assistant, “George is not usually like this. He’s usually such a sweet, friendly — oh, goodness, what on _Earth_ is happening over there? _”_

George’s mother pointed a finger to the drinking fountain by the school’s entrance, which suddenly began to shake and emit shrill creaking noises. George, oblivious to the distraction, continued to wail. The overwhelming fear he felt at his looming abandonment caused him to cry even harder, his little body shuddering with every sob. 

George could feel the despair in the pit of his stomach — it grew with each passing second, making it hard for him to breathe. The feeling intensified, became an awful anxiety that mounted until George _couldn’t hold it in anymore._

_Boom!_

The drinking fountain exploded, sending bits of metal flying everywhere and causing jets of water to drench nearby parents and teachers. Shouts erupted as people scrambled to avoid being hit by debris. One of the nearby homeroom teachers began frantically waving his arms and shouting instructions at the crowd in an attempt to calm people down, but no one paid him attention.

All at once, George felt weightless.

The fear and despair that had threatened to suffocate him only moments prior suddenly released him, leaving George with a deep sense of relief. His whole body felt tingly and warm and weightless, like the smallest breeze could lift him up and carry him away.

The feeling hardly wavered even as George finally glanced up at the scene before him and registered the cause of all the commotion, his mother tugging on his arm to pull him away from the chaos.

The first day of school was delayed that day due to a random pipe malfunction. George only smiled as his frazzled mother led him away to their parked car and drove them home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Strange incidents kept happening after that.

Most of the time, it was small things. A light bulb shattering when George became startled by a loud noise. Asparagus vanishing from his plate at the dinner table after he refused to eat his vegetables. A pillow suddenly appearing underneath him to cushion his fall down the stairs. 

Sometimes, however, the incidents were much more significant. His most prominent memory of one such occasion was when a boy in his class called him a crybaby and didn’t let him play tag with the other children in the schoolyard. The other children in his class were always so _mean_.

George couldn’t help it that he wore his emotions on his sleeve. His mother always called him a _sensitive boy_. 

His classmates didn’t look so fondly upon boys who cried.

“Look at him! He’s going to cry again! Aren’t you, _Georgie?”_ Simon taunted, eliciting similar taunts from the other boys and giggles from most of the girls. 

George’s face went red and his lip quivered, but he refused to give the bullies the satisfaction of seeing him fall apart. So he just stood there and listened to his classmates make fun of him, absorbing every unkind word and mean laugh until he was physically shaking with the effort of holding back his tears. 

That was when he felt it.

He could feel something warm _,_ a familiar tingling sensation spreading outwards from his chest. It filled him with an odd burst of energy that made his hands grow hot and his heart beat so loudly it filled his ears with nothing but its quickly increasing thumps.

His vision began to blur as the children continued taunting him, his breaths came short, threatening to choke him until he couldn’t hold it in any longer, “I hate you, Simon! I hate you _all!_ ” he shouted, tears finally spilling over as the tingling sensation exploded out of him in one sharp burst. 

He gasped, frantically wiping at his face with his sleeve. He squeezed his eyes shut, fully expecting to hear more jeers at his display of weakness.

To his surprise, nothing came.

He cracked his eyes open and looked up, but his classmates were no longer paying him any attention because their gazes were all fixed on Simon’s face.

Simon’s red, splotchy, rapidly swelling face.

“What’s happening to me? Help! Miss Andrews, _help!_ ” Simon screamed, clawing at his tomato-red cheeks. Soon, the other boy couldn’t even talk because his face was so swollen. George just watched on in shock, covering his open mouth with his still-warm hands.

An allergic reaction, the nurse had told the class afterwards. The children were all reminded not to bring nuts of any sort to school. Simon was absent from class for a whole week after that, much to George’s satisfaction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

George was ten years old when he first saw the strange boy.

George had been reading a book under the shade of an oak tree in his backyard, enjoying the freedom of his summer holiday. He was just about to go inside to grab something to drink when — _SMACK!_ — something large and heavy came flying out of nowhere and hit him in the head. 

George groaned and cradled his skull, the pain from the impact causing him to see black spots. It was several moments before he could sit up again and identify the offending mystery object, a large leather ball that had come to a stop in the grass a meter away. 

George eyed the ball curiously, wondering where it could have come from. He glanced around, scanning the area for the ball’s owner, but saw no one. After a moment of contemplation, he reached forward and tentatively picked the thing up. He turned the object over in his hands and was surprised by how weightless the ball felt in his hands, despite the heavy impact of the collision with his head. He was just about to give it an experimental toss when he noticed movement in his peripheral vision.

There was someone — a boy, George realized — running towards him.

As the boy approached, George could make out some of his features. The other boy was tall, but looked to be about his age, with a head of dirty-blond hair and a smattering of freckles across his face. The strangest thing of all, though, was the boy’s outfit — he wore what looked to George like a _dress_ with long, flowing sleeves. Certainly an odd choice of clothing for anyone, let alone for a boy in the middle of summer.

“Erm…hello?” George said tentatively once the other boy was within earshot. The strange boy paused to catch his breath, running a hand through his wind-ruffled hair before finally acknowledging George. 

“Hello. I accidentally hit the quaffle too hard, so…sorry about that,” the strange boy said apologetically once his breathing had returned to normal.

Two things stuck out to George immediately when the other boy spoke. First, he had a foreign accent. Second, he had used a word that George had never heard before, which was _quite_ annoying because George took pride in his knowledge of the English language. Needless to say, George had many questions he wanted to ask this strange boy, but his thoughts were too frazzled to put any of them into proper sentences. 

So, much to George’s embarrassment, all that came out of his own mouth was a single word. “Pardon?” 

The other boy shot him a look as if to say, _are you stupid?_

“The…quaffle. In your hands. I would like it back.”

“The…oh.” 

George slowly handed the leather ball over to the other boy, who snatched it back immediately. 

“Thanks,” the boy said once the ball was tucked under his arm. Immediately, he turned around and made to run away again. George felt a surge of curiosity suddenly overtake him, and without a second thought he called out for the other boy to wait. Immediately, the dirty-blond spun around and looked at George expectantly. 

George could feel his cheeks reddening. There was something piercing about the boy’s gaze. Swallowing his sudden nervousness, George cleared his throat and thought of something else to say. 

“I haven’t seen you before. Do you live nearby?” George found himself asking. 

The other boy eyed him up and down before pointing to a one-story house across the way. “That’s my house. I just moved here,” he answered. 

“Oh! That makes sense. I would have recognized you from school, otherwise,” George mused. However, the other boy’s brow furrowed at the mention of school.

“No…I’m not old enough to go to school, I haven’t gotten my owl yet.” 

And just like that, George was back to being confused. 

“O… _kay_. Where did you move here from, then? You don’t sound…local,” George said awkwardly. At this, the other boy smiled and ran his hand through his hair again. 

“Well, I was born here, but my parents moved to Florida when I was very little. We just moved back here last week.”

George’s eyes widened in amazement at this response. “Florida? As in, _America_?” he asked, awe-struck. He’d never met anyone from America before. The most far away place George had ever been to was France when his parents decided to take him on holiday one Christmas, and George hadn’t even liked it much. 

“Yep!” the other boy said proudly. “My dad’s from here, but my mom’s American. They’d both kill me if they knew I’d been playing with the quidditch equipment by myself, so don’t say anything if you see them.”

“Quidditch…equipment?” George repeated, confused.

“Well, yeah. Everyone played quodpot back home, but Dad says I have to learn quidditch if I ever want to make friends at Hog… _oh!_ ” The boy gasped and covered his mouth with his hand theatrically. George quirked an eyebrow at this, wondering what in the world this strange boy was on about. 

“Well? What’s a quidditch?” George pushed when the other boy continued to stare at him with wide eyes.

“I…I’m sorry, but I wasn’t supposed to…I forgot…” the other boy stumbled over his words, much to George’s annoyance. 

“What? Forgot _what?_ ” 

“I forgot that everyone around here is _No-Maj_!” 

“ _What?_ ”

“ _Ugh,_ sorry, I guess you call yourselves _Muggles._ Or…wait…what do you call yourselves?”

“What is a bloody _Muggle_ ?” George was quite fed up with this strange boy in his strange dress spouting his strange nonsense words. George didn’t even know what the word _Muggle_ meant, but he could already guess by the way the other boy said the word that it wasn’t something George wanted to be called. 

“Look…sorry, I’m not supposed to talk about certain things with No-Maj— I mean, uh, strangers. Yeah. I’m not supposed to talk about certain things with…strangers.” The other boy looked nervous as he gave the excuse, his eyes darting to look at everything except George.

George was still quite skeptical and definitely not past the whole “Muggle” thing, but not talking to strangers was at least something he could understand. His own mother told him all the time not to talk to strangers, after all.

“Well…alright. I guess I can understand that,” George said, nodding his head slowly. 

The other boy looked relieved at this response, expression visibly brightening. “What’s your name?” he asked George with a smile. 

After a few seconds, George couldn’t help but smile as well; the boy’s cheerfulness was contagious. “I’m George,” he said in a much more non-confrontational voice. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Dream!” the other boy declared proudly, his face breaking into an even wider grin. George rolled his eyes at this response.

“ _Dream?_ Come off it, surely that’s not your name.”

The other boy — _Dream_ — looked offended by George’s comment. “Why? What’s wrong with Dream?” he asked with a pout. 

“It’s not a normal name that normal people have. I’ve never met anyone called _Dream_.”

“Well it’s _my_ name so now you _have_ met someone named Dream.” The other boy huffed and put his free hand on his hip, making George crack a smile at the silly pose.

Several more moments passed in silence as the boys stared at each other contemplatively. Eventually, Dream told George that he had to return home — something about how he needed to “stay inside the _M_ __uggle_ -repelling charm _” — and ran back towards his house, leaving George once again alone in his backyard. 

Despite the odd name and very strange appearance, George felt drawn to this new “Dream” boy. He was nothing like George’s mates at school — not that he had very many of those. Perhaps it was just curiosity, but George found himself hoping that he’d see the other boy again soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Much to George’s disappointment, he didn’t see Dream again for two weeks. 

Without meaning to, George found himself spending more and more time outside under the oak tree, casting frequent glances at the small house in the distance. He kept hoping to see a tell-tale shock of dirty-blond hair peeking out from the bushes or the sudden flash of a leather ball sailing through the air, but to his dismay he saw no visible signs of life coming from the small house across the way. 

At the end of the second Dream-less week, George thought he saw movement in the other boy’s garden. Extremely curious, George decided he would walk closer and peek around a few of the bushes. Not in a _creepy_ way, of course; he would be poking his head around purely for research purposes.

The mid-afternoon sun warmed the top of his head as George strolled across the grassy area between his house and Dream’s. He could hear birds chirping in the nearby trees; occasionally, one landed on the grass nearby and pecked at some unseen insect before taking to the skies once more. It was the perfect summer afternoon: warm, lightly breezy, and peaceful. George loved days like these, which was part of the reason why Dream’s absence seemed so odd to him. Why would anyone want to stay cooped up in such wonderful weather?

A rustle from a nearby bush caught George’s attention, making him stop in his tracks. He held his breath, waiting for more signs of life, but he couldn’t see any movement in the shrubs. As stealthily as he could, George took one, two, three steps forward before stopping once more to listen.

That was when he heard it.

The rustling sounded once more, accompanied by a faint grumbling noise. George’s eyes widened when he saw a few of the shrub’s leaves move in a way that couldn’t have simply been due to the breeze. Sure enough, moments later the leaves were pushed aside by what looked to George like tiny brown hands. The boy gasped when a round, miniature, human-like head emerged from the dense growth. Soon George could see the creature’s entire body: it was very small and had leathery brown skin with bony feet. Its head looked far too large. George could only stare as it blinked its beady eyes, seemingly adjusting to the sunlight, before meeting George’s gaze.

George didn’t make a sound as the creature looked him up and down. Several tense moments passed before it finally did something. Eventually, the small beast opened its mouth, revealing a set of sharp, yellow teeth.

“Bugger off,” it said in that same deep, grumbly voice.

George screamed.

The creature looked taken aback, quickly darting back into the shrub and out of George’s sight. George backed away from the bush, eyes wide with fear and mind racing. He had never seen anything resembling that creature in his entire life. There was no way that thing was an animal — no, definitely not — but it certainly wasn’t human either. So then…how did it speak? 

What in the _world_ was going on?

The sound of approaching footsteps snapped George out of his panicked thoughts.

“Who’s screaming? What are you— _George_?” 

George turned to find the very boy he’d spent two weeks thinking about standing mere feet away, a surprised look on his face. Unlike the last time they had crossed paths, on this occasion Dream wore a much more normal outfit consisting of denim jeans, a dark t-shirt, and trainers. 

“Dream! Oh my _god_ , Dream! There was a _monster_ in _that_ bush!” George pointed at the bush, silently hoping Dream would believe him. Dream looked confused.

“What? A monster? What do you mean?” he asked with furrowed brows. George then spent several moments describing the strange creature that had emerged from the shrub while Dream listened attentively. When George recalled how the monster had told him to _bugger off,_ Dream’s eyes widened in sudden realization. 

He took a long look at George, as if wondering how to approach the subject of the strange creature, before finally saying something. “Well, that does seem… _weird_ ,” he finally admitted with a sigh. “But I really don’t think it was anything unusual. You’re probably just, uh, imagining things,” he finished lamely. 

“ _Really?_ You’re telling me I _imagined_ a monster living in the bushes near your house?”

“Uh…yeah.”

George was silent with disbelief. Dream _had_ to have been pulling some sort of prank on him. There was no logical explanation for what George had seen, yet the boy opposite him didn’t look concerned in the slightest. Quite the opposite, actually — Dream looked sheepish as he absentmindedly pushed a pebble around in the grass with the tip of his shoe. 

Just as George was about to say something else, Dream suddenly straightened up and looked at him with a shocked expression. “George! How are you even _here_?” he asked with alarm.

“W-what do you mean?” George stuttered, taken aback by the abrupt shift in tone, “I just walked over. You know, from my house? The one just over _there_?” he pointed to his own house not far away and raised a concerned eyebrow at the incredulous boy.

“No, George,” Dream huffed in exasperation, “don’t you have, like, something you need to do? Somewhere else to be, maybe? Like right now? Immediately?” 

George snorted at the ridiculous line of questioning. Here he was telling Dream about an actual monster he had seen near the boy’s house and all Dream wanted to do was ask him silly questions. 

“Um, _no_ ? If I had somewhere else to go I wouldn't be here— Dream, are you even listening to me?! You’re not _at all_ worried about a monster in your bushes?”

“How are you _standing_ so close to my house?” Dream asked again. 

“My _god,_ Dream, I have _feet_. That’s how.” 

“But Mom said that No-Majs can’t come this close without remembering something urgent they have to do! This doesn’t make any sense!”

“You know what, Dream? You’re bonkers. I’m going home,” George huffed, crossing his arms as he turned around to walk back. He made it about a meter before he heard Dream call after him.

“Wait, George! Okay, fine. You probably saw a gnome.”

George took a deep breath and turned around. “A gnome?”

“Yep,” said Dream quietly. “They’re pests. My dad always tells them to bugger off, which is probably why the one you saw said that to you.”

“So…gnomes. I saw a…gnome?” George asked with a note of disbelief.

“Yeah. Mom hates them ‘cuz they steal the tomatoes from her garden.”

George made a mental note to ask his own mother if she'd ever seen a gnome that looked like _that_. 

“Um…George? I’m sorry for acting weird or whatever. I’m just kinda confused. You’re the first No-Maj I’ve met here, and—”

“Would you _please_ tell me what a ‘No-Maj’ is at least?” George interjected.

Dream looked physically uncomfortable at the question. He shuffled his feet awkwardly and avoided George’s gaze, radiating unease.

For some reason, George felt a pang of regret at Dream’s obvious discomfort. George didn’t know why, but in that moment all he wanted was to see was to see a smile grace the other boy’s freckled face.

“I guess…it’s okay if you can’t tell me now. I get it.” George did not, in fact, get it, but he was willing to overlook Dream’s strange lexicon for now. Immediately, the other boy brightened, grinning from ear to ear in a way that made George’s heart skip a beat.

“Thank you, George. You seem really cool,” Dream happily told the other boy, causing George’s cheeks to turn a light pink color. “Wanna do something fun? I haven’t had anyone else to play with in _forever._ ”

“Forever? Aren’t you, like, my age?” George asked as the boys began walking back towards George’s house. 

“Hmm, that depends. How old are you?”

“Ten. I’ll be eleven in November.”

“Well then we’re _almost_ the same age. I’ll be ten in a few months. I’m kinda surprised, though,” Dream continued nonchalantly, “you’re pretty short for a ten year old.”

“Hey! Maybe you’re just freakishly tall,” George quipped, bumping the other boy lightly with his shoulder before he could think any better of it. Thankfully, Dream didn’t seem to mind; in fact, George saw the other boy’s nose crinkle in a smile. 

Since Dream was new to the neighborhood, George decided to take him down to see the local park. The boys chatted and joked while they walked. Soon, all awkwardness of their previous encounters was forgotten as the boys took turns asking each other questions. Dream was particularly taken aback when George revealed that his favorite color was blue because it was one of the only colors he could see properly. 

“What do you mean, _colorblind?_ How can you not see colors? What color are my eyes, then?” George chuckled when Dream pried his eyelids wide open with his fingers in an effort to show George his eye color. 

“Oh my _god,_ stop!” George laughed at the other boy’s antics. “I can _see_ color, just not the way that you do. I can’t really see red or green. And to answer your question, your eyes are kind of…green-ish, I guess? I can’t be sure.”

“But you just said you can’t see green! So how did you know I have green eyes?” Dream asked skeptically. 

“Well, green and yellow look the same to me. And people don’t have yellow eyes, now, do they?”

“Well _some_ people do.”

George rolled his eyes but didn’t bother arguing further. When the boys made it to the park, Dream made a beeline for the swings. 

“THIS IS SO MUCH FUN!” the boy screamed in his loud American accent as he built up momentum, causing quite a few heads to turn their way. George didn’t mind, though. It was funny to watch Dream use a swing set so enthusiastically. If George didn’t know better, he would have guessed that the other boy had never seen a playground before. 

They spent hours together in that park, playing tag and hide-and-seek and all sorts of other games that George remembered from the schoolyard. 

Dream sounded like a tea kettle when he laughed, George noted with interest.

When the sun began to set, the boys finally decided to return home. George couldn’t even remember the last time he had so much fun. 

“Hey, George? Do you wanna do something fun again tomorrow?” Dream asked hopefully on the way back, eyes shining with excitement. 

“You bet I do,” George answered with no hesitation. 

When his mother finally told him to go to bed, George could barely fall asleep. His mind was racing with ideas of what the boys would do together the next day. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh, Geoooo _-ooorge!_ ” 

George covered his mouth with his hand to keep from accidentally making noise. Dream wasn’t just _good_ at hide-and-seek; he was downright _terrifying_. 

They were playing in the wooded area behind their houses. George actually felt pretty confident in his hiding spot. It had taken him three rounds to locate the perfect tree: large and wide at the base, with plenty of thick branches to support his weight and dense leaf clusters to hide him. He was perched high above the ground, hidden amongst the greenery as he watched Dream search the nearby bushes.

“I know you’re here somewhere, Georgie!” Dream called out, scanning the edges of the clearing for signs of his target. George was careful to remain absolutely still. Dream was like the T-Rex from _Jurassic Park_ — his eyes could catch even the _slightest_ movement. It was like the other boy had a supernatural gift for finding people. 

“I’m gonna get you, George! Come out, come out, wherever you are!” 

George hardly dared to breathe as Dream came ever closer to his hiding spot. If George just stayed completely silent and didn’t move a muscle, maybe—

Suddenly, Dream tensed. As if in slow motion, the taller boy turned around to face the tree and tilted his head upwards, eyes scanning higher and higher until his predatory gaze met George’s own. A few tense moments passed where Dream just smiled unnervingly at George while the shorter boy clung to a tree branch. George swallowed nervously, and Dream suddenly came out of his trance. 

“I see you! COME _HERE_ , GEORGE!” 

With frightening speed, Dream launched himself at the base of the oak tree and began to climb. His long limbs gave him an advantage when it came to climbing; Dream found new footholds and handholds effortlessly. George couldn’t get down safely without Dream catching him, so he did the only thing his panicked brain told him he _could_ do: he climbed even higher up. 

“Dream, _stop_! Please, just let me go!” George squealed as he grabbed hold of another branch above his head and desperately tried to pull himself upwards. He could hear Dream catching up to him; when George glanced down, he once again met the bloodthirsty gaze of his hunter and yelped.

 _He’s too close!_ George’s frantic brain registered. Desperately, George placed his left foot on another branch, preparing to climb even higher, only to hear a sickening _crack_ as the branch splintered under his weight. 

Panic seized the shorter boy as he lost his balance and fell backwards. Dream screamed and tried to grab onto George as he fell, but it was no use. 

_I am going to die,_ was George’s only coherent thought as gravity began to pull his body swiftly towards the ground. He felt a familiar warm tingling sensation begin to spread through his body as he neared his demise. 

Yet, somehow, George didn’t die. 

What should have been a bone-crushing, spine-breaking, life-threatening fall was instead a slow, gravity-defying descent in which George floated gracefully to the ground like a feather. There was only a soft _thud_ when his back met the green forest floor. 

Dimly, George registered a noise somewhere behind him as Dream hurriedly climbed down the tree. 

“Oh my god! George! Are you okay? How did you _do_ that?” Dream shouted as he jogged towards the spot where George lay. 

“I…I don’t…” George’s brain was far too frazzled to put any of his thoughts into words. Instead, he opened his eyes — when had he closed them? — and stared up at his friend’s concerned face. Dream was looking him over, checking him for obvious injuries, and was visibly confused when he found none. 

After a few moments, Dream helped George get into a sitting position with his back against the base of the tree. George was still too shocked to say anything, so he simply listened as Dream assaulted him with questions. 

“You — you should have died! When I saw you fall, I thought you were about to crack your head open or something! But…but you’re alive! George, how did you do that? How did you _fall_ like that? I’ve never seen anyone, let alone a freaking _No-Maj_ , pull off that kinda stunt! George, dude, what _was_ that? Tell me how—”

“ _Dream._ ” George finally interrupted. Dream immediately stopped talking and fixed George with an intense stare that made the shorter boy want to squirm. George took a deep breath before speaking again. “I don’t know what happened. I…I just fell, and I thought I was dead, but then…somehow…I wasn’t. I just…” George trailed off, furrowing his eyebrows as he recalled his near-death experience. 

“I guess…I just don’t know. I can’t explain it.” George said with a sigh as he felt his heart finally begin to fall back into its normal rhythm. Beside him, Dream was deep in thought.

“Could it…could it have been _me_?” the other boy asked under his breath, clearly thinking out loud. “Maybe,” he muttered, “maybe I did it without realizing…”

George tapped his friend on the shoulder to get his attention. “What do you mean, ‘maybe you did it?’ What could you have even done?” George couldn’t begin to understand how Dream thought he’d been able to _alter gravity_. The mere thought of his friend having strange, physics-defying superpowers was laughable. 

When Dream didn’t answer the question, George nudged him again. “Dreeee- _eeeam_ ,” he whined. “Dream, did you hear me? I asked you a question.”

Suddenly, Dream turned around and George was taken aback by the seriousness of the other boy’s expression. “George,” he said with no trace of humor in his voice. “I have a secret that I _really_ want to tell you. But I can’t. Dad told me that if I ever told a No-Maj, I could get in big trouble.”

George felt a pang of hurt at Dream’s confession. Although the boys had only known each other for a little over a month, George already felt like he could trust Dream with anything, even if Dream still refused to explain what a _No-Maj_ was. Perhaps it was silly of him to think that Dream would feel the same way. 

“It’s okay,” George replied quietly. “I guess you haven’t known me for very long. It makes sense that you don’t trust me.” 

George didn’t want to meet Dream’s eyes and accidentally reveal the hurt he felt, so he didn’t see the way Dream’s expression changed from serious to flabbergasted at George’s words.

“What? Don’t be crazy, George, of course I trust you!” the American tried to reassure his friend, who was still staring at his own lap. “Please, George — it’s not like that. I _want_ to tell you the secret, but I just _can’t_. You’ve gotta believe me.”

George finally met Dream’s gaze, feeling some of his hurt ebb away as he registered the pleading tone in his friend’s voice. “You know I wouldn’t tell anyone, right? I know how to keep a secret,” he said, hoping Dream would trust him in spite of his reservations. 

“I _know_ , George. It’s just…maybe I’ll tell you at some point. When I’m sure that I won’t get in trouble.”

“Okay, Dream. I don’t want you to get in trouble,” George replied softly. He meant it; the idea of Dream being punished for telling George top-secret information hurt to think about. 

Dream smiled and nudged George with his elbow. “You’re basically my only friend, you know that?” he remarked. George’s heart stuttered at the admission. 

“Really? What about your friends in Florida?”

“I don’t have many. And they haven’t spoken to me since I moved away,” Dream confessed, voice tinged with sadness. Eager to cheer up his new friend, George gave Dream a playful punch on the shoulder.

“Well, you’re my best friend here, too,” he told Dream in a friendly voice before standing up and dusting off his jeans. “Now let’s head back home. I’m starving.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you fancy a walk down to the park?”

The boys were sitting side by side on a log facing a small pond a little ways away from their neighborhood. Dream didn’t say anything, prompting George to ask the question again.

“ _Dream_! I asked if you fancied a walk to the park!” he repeated loudly, finally managing to snap the other boy out of whatever trance he’d been in. To his credit, Dream looked apologetic enough once he realized George had been trying to get his attention.

“Oh, I can’t today,” he said with a sigh. “Mom doesn’t want me staying out too late ‘cuz she wants me to get some sleep before tomorrow.”

George tilted his head, puzzled. Dream almost never had problems staying out until dark. “What’s tomorrow?” he asked, curious.

“My birthday. I usually wake up really early ‘cuz I get so excited. I _really_ want to know what my parents got me this year,” Dream added, an eager look on his face. 

George didn’t know what to say; he’d completely forgotten about Dream’s birthday. He should have realized his birthday was soon, given that Dream had previously mentioned it was in August, but the other boy hadn’t brought it up at all since they first met. George was suddenly overcome with a feeling of panic at the realization that he didn’t have anything for his new best friend in terms of a gift. 

“Oh, yeah,” George said, trying not to sound too panicked. “Your birthday. Are you going to be having a party?”

Dream sighed and shook his head. “No. I wouldn’t have anyone except you to invite. My parents will give me a present and my mom will bake a cake, but that’s about it.”

George hated how _resigned_ Dream sounded, like it was a given that he would have a boring birthday. Everyone deserved a fun birthday, especially when it was their tenth birthday. 

And just like that, George knew what he had to do the next day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“George! Where are we going?” Dream asked George for the umpteenth time since they’d met that day. George had presented Dream with a blindfold when the boys met up at their usual spot by the oak tree, and Dream had put it on (albeit reluctantly). Now, George held Dream’s hand as he guided the taller boy through the forest and towards the surprise he’d stayed up late working on the night before. 

After several more minutes, the pair stepped into the center of a small clearing. George led Dream to a large tree stump in the center on which sat a medium-sized box covered with wrapping paper. 

“Okay, you can take it off now,” George said, suddenly nervous. What if he’d gotten it all wrong? What if Dream hated the gift? What if this whole thing was a stupid waste of—

“You got me a present? _Awesome_!” Dream gasped enthusiastically, and all at once George’s doubts vanished. The other boy didn’t waste any time unwrapping his gift; he attacked the wrapping paper like it had personally offended him, tearing off large pieces of paper and discarding them hastily. When the box was revealed, Dream went quiet.

“Wow,” he said, a hint of reverence in his tone. “You got me cubes, George.” 

George laughed and pointed to the words on the box. “Not just _cubes,_ you idiot, I got you _LEGOs_.”

Dream’s eyes widened as he read the label in amazement. “I love it,” he said warmly, bright green eyes meeting George’s own.

“These are little plastic blocks that you can fit together to build things.” George explained, “I know how much you love building forts with me out of rocks and old bricks, so I thought you might like building with easier material.”

Dream turned the box over in his hands before giving it an experimental shake. He looked positively delighted at the sounds the cubes made as they rattled around in the box. “You’re the _best,_ George!” he exclaimed joyfully before throwing his arms around the shorter boy. 

George was blushing, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. After Dream let go of him, George pulled out a tin of biscuits and a bottle of cola from his backpack. “And now, Dream, we are going to have a birthday feast in your honor!” 

As the sun began to set and the boys were walking home, Dream made a declaration.

“That was the best birthday ever, George. Thank you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh, Geoooo _-ooorge!”_

“Leave me alone, Dream!”

“Stop running, _Gogi_!”

“I said _don’t call me that!”_

“I’M GONNA GET YOU, _GOGI_!” 

George didn’t dare look behind him. They were playing a game that Dream called “Gnomes and Jarveys,” and this time it was George’s turn to be the gnome. Dream had tried to explain to him what a Jarvey was before they started playing, but George had never even seen a ferret before, let alone a huge one that could talk. Definitions didn’t matter, though, he supposed; all that George needed to know was that he was the prey and Dream was the predator. 

George’s lungs were starting to burn with the effort of running for so long. Dream was _fast_ — even though George had a head start, it wouldn’t be long until the taller boy caught up to him and tackled him to the ground.

George’s stomach dropped when he realized he was running straight towards the fence that bordered the small forest. A dead end.

Evidently, Dream had come to the same realization, because he cackled maniacally. 

“Nowhere to go, GEORGE! You’re _dead!_ ” 

As George neared the fence, his eyes searched for something — anything — to jump over or climb. He _needed_ to figure out a way to escape Dream, and he needed to do it _fast_. But there was nothing he could do, nowhere else he could run because he could practically _feel_ Dream breathing down his neck —

The tingling sensation started in George’s chest just as he felt Dream’s hand reach forward and grab his shoulder. 

George was too late. Dream was upon him. 

George closed his eyes and allowed the tingling feeling to intensify, bracing himself for the pain that would inevitably follow being tackled to the ground. 

And, just like when George had fallen out of the tree, the pain never came.

When George opened his eyes, he saw that Dream was on the other side of the fence. 

No, that couldn’t be right; _George_ was somehow on the other side of the fence. Dream was staring at him with a look of absolute shock on his face. 

“George,” he said, eyes wide with shock.

“Yes?”

“You’re on the other side of the fence, George.”

“Yes,” George replied, puzzled.

“But you didn’t jump over it.”

“No.”

Dream took a careful step forward and fixed George with his piercing green gaze. The taller boy was thinking so hard that George could practically _see_ the cogs in his head turning. 

“You apparated, George,” Dream finally spoke. 

George tilted his head at the unfamiliar word. “I don’t know what that means.”

Dream shook his head a few times as if to clear it, seemingly at a loss for words. George hoped that Dream was _okay_ with so-called “apparating” thing he’d just done. It wasn’t like George had done it on purpose, after all. Strange, unexplainable things had been happening around George ever since he was little. It was part of the reason his classmates found him off-putting. But Dream didn’t mind that he was odd, right? 

…Right? 

After another few tense moments in which George didn’t even dare breathe, Dream surprised George by doubling over and letting out the loudest _wheeze_. 

“Dream?!” George called out in alarm, grabbing the fence before him in order to get as close as possible to him. The taller boy was bent over, shaking with laughter and struggling to make a coherent sound. 

George took a step back from the fence, quickly scanning the perimeter of the fence until he found a gap that he could squeeze through in order to get back to where Dream was. When George finally made it back to his friend, he saw that the other boy had calmed down somewhat, but was still breathing heavily. 

George shuffled his feet awkwardly, waiting for Dream to give some sort of explanation for his outburst. The taller boy ran a hand through his messy blond hair and took in a shuddering breath before finally meeting George’s gaze.

George had expected Dream to look confused. Angry, even. But the look in the taller boy’s eyes was one of pure… _joy_. Dream looked happier than he had when George had thrown him that mini birthday party in the woods. 

“I can’t believe you just apparated, George,” Dream said in a voice tinged with awe.

Nervous and _very_ confused, George looked at his feet. “Still don’t know what that means,” he mumbled.

“I just don’t get how I didn’t notice it before. The fact that you can come close to my house, the way you fell out of that tree…of _course_ you’re not a No-Maj,” Dream said to himself emphatically. 

George huffed at the foreign vocabulary. “ _Dream._ Stop it with the strange secret words I don’t understand!”

That was when Dream gasped and grinned from ear to ear. 

“George!” he exclaimed, “it doesn’t have to be a secret anymore!”

At this, George’s eyes widened. “You mean…you can tell me your big secret now?”

“Yep!”

“Won’t you get in trouble?” George asked, dumbfounded. The other boy merely chuckled at the question before going all quiet again. 

“Don’t you get it?” Dream said to him in an excited whisper, eyes alight with joyous realization. “You—you’re _magical_ , George!”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re like me!”


	2. Chapter Two || Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George learns about magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I can't believe the response to the first chapter! I didn't think people would want to read this, but the amazing comments and all the kudos made me want to get the second chapter out as quickly as possible. I hope y'all like it :)

That night as the boys were walking home through the woods, Dream told him everything. 

Magic. There was a  _ name  _ for the tingling sensation George felt right before something odd and unexplainable happened, and it was magic. Dream told him that the “apparating” thing George had done was uncontrolled magic, as was the way George had been able to defy gravity when he had fallen out of the tree. For once in George’s life, someone was presenting him with an explanation for the series of strange occurrences that defined his existence. 

Dream called him a  _ wizard _ , and the term felt right, somehow.  __

Best of all, George knew Dream’s secret now — the other boy was magical, too.

“You mean you  _ also  _ get the warm feeling in your chest that makes strange things happen?” George had asked his friend incredulously. Dream smiled and nodded.

“When you fell out of that tree before, I actually thought it was my magic that saved you. It was weird because I didn’t  _ feel  _ my magic flare up, but there was no other explanation, you know?”

George nodded at Dream’s line of reasoning, tilting his head in thought. “Why didn’t you think it could have been me, though?” he questioned.

Dream shrugged and gave George a somewhat apologetic look. “Cuz I thought you were a No-Maj. My parents told me that the closest magical household was a mile away.”

George hummed at this explanation, then let out a tiny gasp as he put together another piece of the Dream puzzle. “So  _ No-Maj  _ means ‘no magic?’ That’s what you were calling me all this time?”

Dream chuckled a bit sheepishly. “Yeah. No-Maj is the American way to say it. Around here people call them Muggles.”

“So…you thought I was a Muggle.”

“Yep. But you’re not. You’re just Muggle-born.”

“Muggle-born?”

Dream sighed dramatically and shot George an exasperated look. 

“ _ Yes,  _ George, you’re Muggle-born. Your parents are Muggles, so that makes  _ you  _ Muggle-born.”

“Are you Muggle-born?” George asked his friend. Dream looked almost offended at the question, which made George a tad uneasy. 

“Me?  _ What _ ? No, of course not. I’m a pureblood. My dad’s a Selwyn.”

The way Dream spoke the words with a hint of pride made George reluctant to ask him anything else about the Muggle-born and pureblood stuff. 

“If your parents are both magical, does that mean your whole family can make strange things happen when they’re scared or in danger?”

Dream smirked at George’s question. “They can do magic whenever they want, basically. When we get older and go to school, we’ll be able to learn how to control it. Right now we’re kids, so our magic kinda just comes out at random.”

“School? But I already go to school,” George said.

“Not your No-Maj school. I mean Hogwarts. It’s in Scotland. It’s the best magic school in the whole world, which is why my parents wanted to move us back to the UK.”

George’s heart sank. Scotland? His parents would never be able to afford to send him away to a boarding school in Scotland. George said as much to his friend, but Dream merely brushed aside his concerns.

“You’re a wizard, George. There’s no way you’re not going to Hogwarts. Wizards aren’t meant to go to  _ Muggle  _ schools,” Dream said with an eye roll. “Just wait until next year. You’ll see.”

The rest of the walk home went by in much the same fashion, with George asking question after question and Dream answering each and every one, amused by George’s curiosity. When the boys finally arrived at George’s house, Dream bade him farewell and promised to tell him more about magic the next day.

“Wait, Dream,” George said as the taller boy began to walk away. Dream paused, waiting for George to continue. “You promise that what you’re saying is real? It’s not just some… _ joke _ …right?” 

Dream’s dirty-blond hair looked pale under the light of the moon as the taller boy’s lips formed a soft smile. 

“You really  _ are  _ magic, George. I promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What do you mean you can’t come out tomorrow? You said you wanted me to tell you about quidditch, remember?” Dream whined, kicking the dirt in exasperation. 

George rolled his eyes at his friend’s reaction. Ever since Dream had told George about magic, the boys had spent every day in the woods “practicing,” which consisted of each boy trying to startle the other into performing accidental magic. They were largely unsuccessful, although occasionally Dream would scare George enough while playing Gnomes and Jarveys that George would spontaneously apparate a short distance away, making Dream wheeze every single time without fail.

“I told you,” George said patiently, “I have to go to school. I’m going into Year Six.”

Dream’s expression morphed into one of confusion. “What? Why are you going back to Muggle school?”

“Because…I have to? Because it’s the  _ law _ ?” George replied, crossing his arms in front of himself. Was Dream thick?

“But you’re a wizard. You don’t have to spend time with No-Maj kids anymore.” Dream spoke the words like they were obvious, like George hadn’t  _ just  _ learned about magic two weeks earlier. His own  _ mum  _ still didn’t know that George could do magic — Dream had told the shorter boy to keep the wizarding world a secret until he received his Hogwarts letter.  _ She’s just a Muggle, George,  _ Dream had said.  _ She won’t understand until one of the Hogwarts staff comes to explain it to her.  _

“I still have to go to school, Dream.”

Dream wrinkled his nose up at the statement. “You  _ hate  _ Muggle school. You said everyone just bullies you all the time.”

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it. My homeroom teacher is supposed to be really nice this year, so I’ll probably be alright.”

“You should just skip. Hang out with me in the woods tomorrow instead,” Dream suggested, prompting George to shake his head. 

“I wish I could, but I have to go to school. I’ll still spend time with you every evening, though, okay?”

Dream sighed, but didn’t push the matter further. The boys spent the rest of the afternoon chasing each other around in the grass until they were both exhausted and out of breath. They were relaxing underneath the big oak tree in George’s backyard when the shorter boy suddenly had the urge to ask Dream a question. 

“Hey, Dream?”

“Hmmm?” Dream hummed, tilting his head in George’s direction. 

“I was just wondering…why did you sound offended when I asked you if you were Muggle-born?”

Dream’s eyes, which had been closed, fluttered open at the question. The taller boy’s eyebrows furrowed as he seemed to contemplate his answer. 

“I wasn’t, like, mad or anything,” he finally said. “I’m just not Muggle-born. Both of my parents are purebloods.”

“Oh,” George responded, still wondering. He took a deep breath before asking another question. “Is it…bad, or something? Being Muggle-born?”

“No. It’s not anything bad.” Dream didn’t hesitate with his answer, which immediately put George at ease. 

…Until Dream spoke his next words. 

“You’re still a wizard, George. It just means you got unlucky and were born to the wrong parents.”

Dream had closed his eyes again while he was giving his answer, so the taller boy didn’t see the taken aback expression that appeared on George’s face at his words. 

“Pardon?” George asked, voice colored with disbelief. “How was I born to the  _ wrong  _ parents?”

Registering George’s incredulous tone, Dream sat up and turned to face his friend. Dream looked surprised at George’s reaction to his statement.

“Woah, chill out George, I said it’s  _ fine  _ that you’re Muggle-born.”

“Yes, but you also said I was born to the wrong parents. And I  _ love  _ my parents.”

“Well….yeah, sure, you don’t  _ have _ to hate them,” Dream furrowed his eyebrows, “But you’re a wizard, and they’re Muggles.”

George bristled at this. “What’s wrong with being a Muggle?”

“ _ Nothing _ , I guess. We’re just different. Our kind don’t really mix with Muggles.”

“You thought  _ I  _ was a Muggle when we met.”

At this, Dream paused. 

“Yeah,” the blond admitted with a shrug. “I did. But you felt…different.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know, George! You just weren’t like the Muggles my parents told me about. You were different. And now I know  _ why _ you were different — you were a wizard like me all along!” Dream grinned at this, but for once George didn’t smile back.

Dream looked so  _ genuine,  _ so oblivious as to why George seemed hurt by his train of thought, and George didn’t quite know how to explain to him why he was offended.

“Everyone I know except you is a Muggle, you know,” George finally said, not meeting Dream’s gaze. “I guess…it doesn’t feel right to me, the way you act like I can just brush them off now that I’m a wizard.”

Dream’s eyes widened in shock, “I’m not— I’m not  _ racist  _ or anything!” He spluttered, waving his hands around as though to dismiss the suggestion, “I don’t hate Muggles! I wanted to be your friend even  _ before  _ I knew you had magic, remember?!”

George sighed and nodded. “Yeah.”

“So I  _ can’t _ be racist, even if it turns out you were magic all along.” Dream declared, seemingly more to convince himself than George.

The boys sat in silence for a few moments, mulling over the conversation before George spoke up once more.

“But…Dream?”

Dream tightened up, though he tried not to show it, “Yeah?”

“If...if you said you have pure blood, what does that make my blood? Do I have…” He hesitated, “..dirty blood?”

Dream whipped his head around and met George’s hesitant gaze with a wide-eyed one. “What?!  _ No _ ! George, your blood is fine,” Dream insisted, but there was something past the panicked look on his face that looked as if he had more to say but was unsure how to proceed. 

“Dream?”

Dream broke eye contact and shuffled a bit where he was sitting. George started to feel anxious at the way his friend was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. After what felt like ages to George, Dream cleared his throat and started to speak.

“I guess I should probably tell you about this before you get your Hogwarts letter, but please don’t be mad,” Dream said quietly, a pleading look on his face. 

“I won’t be mad at you, Dream,” George promised. 

“Well,” the taller boy said. “There  _ are _ some wizards who think it’s bad to be Muggle-born. My mom said that there was a war over it here before I was born.”

George’s eyes widened. “A _war?_ _Here_?”

“Yes,” Dream answered in a serious tone. “There was this group of crazies who wanted all of the Muggle-borns to go to prison for stealing magic.”

George felt panic seize his throat. “But I didn’t  _ steal  _ my magic! I’ve had it since I was little!”

“ _ Duh _ , I know that, you can’t steal magic, but the crazy people thought that you could. There was a big war where lots of witches and wizards died, but the good guys won in the end.”

George calmed down a bit at his friend’s explanation. It was almost impossible for George to imagine a war between magical people — in the  _ U.K., _ of all places! What did a magical war even look like? 

And to think that this war was fought over people whose parents were non-magical. People like  _ George _ . 

The thought of powerful wizards trying to hunt him down and arrest him for his magic sent a shiver of fear down George’s spine. 

“Anyway, the thing is, there are still a few people who think that Muggle-borns are bad. You’ll probably meet a few of them, but you should just keep in mind that they’re crazy jerks who  _ lost _ ,” Dream assured him. 

The shorter boy nodded seriously. It wasn’t hard for him to imagine being bullied for something he couldn’t control; he had been dealing with bullies his entire life. 

George looked up at Dream and smiled. “I’m glad that you’re not one of those people,” he said earnestly, bumping his friend’s shoulder with his own. Dream chuckled and bumped him back.

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

“George?”

“Yes, Dream?”

“If you ever see my dad…try not to talk to him, okay?”

George’s smile faltered. “Why not?”

Dream sighed and sounded apologetic when he spoke his next words. “My dad’s kinda old-fashioned.  _ I  _ don’t care that you’re Muggle-born, but I don’t know how he’d react if he found out that we’re friends.”

George didn’t quite know what to say to his friend’s admission, so he just nodded and hummed. Sensing a new tension in the atmosphere, George decided to lighten the mood. 

“Can you tell me how you play quidditch, Dream? Do you  _ have  _ to be flying?”

The question achieved its desired effect: George smiled when Dream perked up immediately and started rambling about the point system and the various positions and teams. They talked until George’s mother came outside and insisted that George come in and get ready for bed. 

That night, George dreamt of witches and wizards casting spells at each other on a battlefield.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“George! Your answer to the seventh question, please.”

George glanced down at his notebook and quickly read off the answer. “Seven hundred twenty-one thousand eleven,” he said, earning him a smile from his teacher.

Mrs. Jacobsen turned around to write something on the blackboard, which is when George felt someone kick his chair.

“Aren’t you clever,  _ Georgie _ ,” Simon whispered condescendingly. George didn’t take the bait, instead focusing on completing the next question in the problem set. He had almost finished answering the multiplication problem when his chair was kicked yet again.

_ Ignore him, George. Ignore him and he will go away.  _

George finished the problem. Simon kicked his chair again.

The kicking continued until George finally turned around and shot the boy behind him a glare. 

“Stop it, you git. I’m trying to work.”

Simon just smirked at George’s request and kicked his chair once more. George could feel his face heating up in annoyance. 

The next few seconds were a blur.

It happened so quickly that George didn’t have time to fully process the sudden burst of energy in his chest and the way that his hands warmed up in a very familiar way. Before George even knew what was happening, Simon’s chair began to splinter. The wooden legs suddenly snapped like twigs, sending Simon falling to the floor with a loud  _ thump. _

The whole class fell silent. All eyes were on Simon, who was sprawled out comically on the floor among the broken pieces of his chair. Laughs erupted once the other students took notice of the large boy’s unfortunate predicament, which made Simon’s face turn beet red. 

Mrs. Jacobsen quickly reined everyone in and a teaching assistant soon found Simon another chair. The class eventually resumed working, and George’s chair was spared from further abuse. 

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, George hurried out of the classroom and speed-walked down the hallway. He wanted to get home quickly so that he could tell Dream all about his accidental burst of magic. The blond boy would probably pat him on the back and laugh with him at Simon’s misfortune; just the memory of his bully sprawled out helplessly on the floor made George smile to himself.

Just as George stepped outside, he heard a voice call his name.

“Hey, George! Come back here, you wanker!”

George didn’t even turn around when he heard Simon’s shout, ducking his head instead and quickening his pace. There was no  _ way  _ that he was going to have a confrontation with Simon. He wanted to end his school day on a good note. 

Much to George’s displeasure, he could hear heavy footsteps behind him. Soon, there was a hand on George’s shoulder yanking him backwards.

Simon’s expression was furious as the larger boy glared at George. “I  _ know  _ you messed with my chair, you tosser. What did you do, loosen a few bolts during recess?”

George gulped nervously but stood his ground. 

“Oh, grow a brain, you idiot. I didn’t touch your stupid chair,” the shorter boy said evenly, straightening his back to stand a little taller. Simon’s eyes flashed at the insult.

“Liar,” he spat. “You made a  _ bad  _ decision, Georgie.”

With those words, Simon abruptly pushed George away, causing the shorter boy to stumble before regaining his balance and quickly sprinting away in the direction of his house. When he looked back at the school, he saw Simon talking with a few other boys from his year. The sight filled George with unease.

It took about twenty minutes for George to walk home, and he couldn’t help but nervously glance over his shoulder at every turn. He’d never heard Simon sound so  _ ominous _ before. It was frightening. 

The rest of George’s walk was anxious and tense, however the feeling quickly left him as soon as he spotted Dream waiting for him outside his house.

“George!” Dream called out, jogging over to meet him. The other boy held what George now knew to be a quaffle in his hands. 

“Hello, Dream!”

“Yeah, yeah, hello. You took forever to get home! I want to practice throwing the quaffle around some more, so hurry up and put your stupid backpack away!”

George grinned and sprinted inside his house to put his school things away in his room. He called out a hello to his mother, who informed him that they would be having spaghetti for supper and told him not to stay out too late.

The boys passed each other the leather ball until they were both sweaty and tired. George started to tell Dream that he better go inside for supper when the taller boy squinted at something over George’s shoulder and frowned. 

“Do you know those guys?” Dream asked, pointing to a group of boys approaching in the distance. 

When George turned and saw the face of the boy at the front of the group, he gasped and took several steps backwards. Dream shot him a questioning look.

“It’s Simon. And some other boys from our school. Dream, I think they’re here to murder me,” George said to his friend in a panicked tone. 

Dream snorted and crossed his arms in front of him, eyeing the approaching figures with a smirk.

“Oh, please. A bunch of No-Maj kids? I’d like to see them try.” 

George looked at Dream with alarm. “Dream, it’s Simon and his friends. They’re  _ awful _ . Last year they shoved my head in a school toilet and held me down until I almost passed out. I  _ really  _ don’t want to deal with this right now.”

A look of concern for his friend flashed across Dream’s face, quickly replaced by one of steely determination. “Just stay put, George. They won’t lay a hand on us.”

So George stood still like a deer in the headlights, watching his school tormentors come closer like a gang out of a movie. He knew he probably looked terrified, but he took comfort in the way Dream stood with his head held high beside him. 

There were four boys in the group: Simon, a boy from his year called Finlay, another boy in his class called Duncan, and an older boy who George vaguely recognized as Simon’s older brother. George could make out wicked smiles on their faces as they grew closer, and the sight made him want to turn around and find somewhere to hide.

When the group came close enough so that they were within hearing range, Dream surprised George by speaking first. 

“Hello there,” the blond said casually, quirking an eyebrow. “You guys live around here?”

George willed his friend not to antagonize his bullies. After all, it was  _ George  _ who would have to face them in school the following day.

Simon glanced at his brother before replying. “Who’re you? A friend of  _ Georgie-poo’s? _ ” The nickname made the other boys in Simon’s group snort and eye George with disdain. George could see Dream tense out of the corner of his eye.

“I am. You aren’t, though. So what are a bunch of losers like you doing in our neighborhood?” 

Simon’s evil smirk quickly vanished and was replaced by an angry frown. 

“You’re quite the twat, aren’t you? I’m not surprised Georgie’s friends are all twits like him.” 

George didn’t want to be confrontational, but he also didn’t want to look weak in front of Dream. “Oh, you’re such a prat, Simon. I didn’t even  _ touch  _ your chair, if that’s what you’re here to talk about, so you and your friends can sod off,” George announced in the bravest voice he could muster, which came off as more of a squeak.

One of the boys — Finlay — cracked his knuckles in an obvious attempt to look intimidating. George tried not to flinch at the sound. 

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you, Davidson? I  _ know  _ you broke my chair. You didn’t even look surprised when I fell out of it,” Simon seethed. Before George could even respond, Dream let out a wheeze. 

“Oh, please,” he got out once he was done laughing. “With your fat butt sitting in it, I’m surprised that chair didn’t break sooner.”

George would have laughed if it wasn’t for the look of utter fury that graced Simon’s face at the remark. 

Simon’s older brother cleared his throat and stepped forward. “I don’t let anyone speak to my brother that way,” he said menacingly. “Looks like we ought to teach these twits a lesson, don’t we, boys?”

Dream smirked at the threatening comment and shook his head. “You? Teach  _ us  _ something? I’m losing brain cells just by standing this close to you dimwits,” he retorted. 

There were a few tense moments where the four bullies just glared at Dream and George; it was the calm before the storm. Then, Dream smiled, and Simon lunged at him. 

George gasped as the large boy swung a fist at his best friend’s face. Dream dodged the blow effortlessly, twisting Simon’s arm behind his back and kicking him to the ground as if it were second nature. Duncan, seeing Simon on the ground, leapt forward and aimed a punch at Dream’s stomach, only for Dream to sidestep the attempt and push his attacker into a nearby tree. 

George was stunned by what he was seeing. Dream, his best friend, was fighting his school tormentors as if they were nothing. 

Unfortunately for George, the fact that he was distracted by Dream’s fight gave Finlay the perfect opportunity to shove him to the ground. George gasped and hurriedly tried to get back up, only to receive a kick in the side from Simon’s older brother.

A sharp pain rocketed throughout George’s body, causing him to cry out. As fear overtook his brain, he registered the tell-tale tingling sensation of his magic preparing to come to his rescue. 

“What’s wrong,  _ Georgie? _ Cat got your tongue?” Finlay jeered, preparing to aim a punch at George’s face. George closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the growing warm feeling in his chest, willing his magic to do its job. 

Half a second later, George felt a burst of energy and opened his eyes to see that he was now perched high above the scene, sitting up in a tree branch out of harm’s way. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that he was temporarily safe, thankful for his wizardry. 

Beneath him, Finlay gaped at the ground, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. “ _ Bloody hell _ !” he exclaimed, staring at the space that George no longer occupied with utter confusion. “How did…where in god’s name… _ George _ ?” he stammered, swiveling his head back and forth in search of his vanished target. Simon’s older brother was similarly flabbergasted. 

“Where did that little wanker  _ go _ ?” the older boy shouted, scanning the scene frantically. After several moments, he glanced upwards, eyes widening when he registered George perched up above him. Just as Finlay made to step towards the tree and attempt to climb it, Dream appeared behind him and shoved him to the ground. 

“Don’t you  _ dare _ try and lay your filthy No-Maj hands on him,” Dream said threateningly before flicking his wrist and causing the branch of one of the other nearby trees to suddenly swing back and smack Finlay across the face. Finlay clutched his now bleeding nose, groaning in pain. Dream met George’s wide brown eyes and gave him a concerned look.

_ Are you okay?  _ Dream mouthed. George nodded in response.

When the other boys in Simon’s gang had come to their senses, they looked absolutely  _ terrified.  _

“George, you little  _ twit!  _ Go on and stay in that tree like the coward you are,” Simon shouted up at George angrily. Beside Simon, Finlay had a look of panic on his face.

“You absolute  _ freak _ ,” he said, horrified. “How the hell did you pull that trick off? You’re not even bloody  _ human, _ ” Finlay spat, blood still pouring from his nose. 

“What a bunch of losers. You guys are pathetic,” Dream proclaimed, wrinkling his nose at the four bullies and kicking a pebble in their direction. 

“This isn’t over. See you in school, Georgie,” Simon called out over his shoulder as he and his gang began to leave. Several glares were tossed at George and Dream as the bullies disappeared into the forest. 

Only when George was positive that the other boys were far away did he finally climb down from his perch. Dream was waiting for him on the ground with a smirk on his freckled face. 

“I told you we’d be fine,” he said smugly, eyes shining with something akin to pride. George couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. He and Dream had faced _four_ bullies from school and had come out alive. The mere thought of it seemed ridiculous, yet George was still breathing.

“How did you do that thing with the tree?” George asked, voice colored with awe. 

Dream shrugged and glanced down at his hands. “I don’t really know. I just felt the magic in my hands, and the tree branch was right  _ there _ , and I just kinda…asked it to move? With my thoughts?”

“Please hit that boy in the face, Mr. Tree Branch, it would be  _ really  _ helpful,” George chimed in his best Dream impression, forcing an american accent.

“Shut up, you idiot,” Dream muttered, blushing. “It was cooler than  _ your  _ magic. All you did was apparate into a tree.”

“Hey! I think any magic is cool.”

“You’re right,” Dream conceded. “Everything about that was  _ super  _ cool.”

“I can’t  _ believe  _ you said that thing about his ‘fat butt!’ That was  _ brilliant _ !” 

“And  _ I  _ can’t believe that my own son would be so stupid as to waste his time antagonizing  _ Muggles _ ,” a deep voice sounded from behind them. 

The boys whirled around, coming face to face with a tall blonde man dressed in an intimidating dark blue robe. The man, like Dream, had a piercing green gaze which he aimed at George’s best friend. 

“D-dad?” Dream stammered nervously, glancing at George briefly before returning his gaze to the man before them. 

“Clay. That was incredibly foolish of you. Though I am thrilled that your magic is manifesting itself more and more each day, what I just witnessed here was idiotic. I had to obliviate all four of those Muggle boys thanks to your  _ stupidity, _ ” Dream’s father said in a voice that made George shiver. “You will return home  _ at once. _ ”

Dream —  _ Clay _ ? — obediently shuffled to his father’s side while George watched, frozen. The spot where Simon’s older brother had kicked him throbbed to the rhythm of his heart.

When there were several meters of distance between Dream and George, Dream’s father’s gaze turned to the shorter boy.

“George, was it?” the man asked coolly. George nodded wordlessly, and the man continued. “You must be the mystery friend taking up all of Clay’s free time, though my son neglected to mention your… _ heritage _ .”

With those words, Dream’s father turned on his heel and took several long strides in the direction of his house. Just before the two figures disappeared into the tree line, the man turned back and tossed a few more words over his shoulder.

“Congratulations on your newfound magic, Muggle-born. Use it wisely.”

And just like that, George was alone in the forest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

George did not see Dream again for almost an entire month. 

October passed agonizingly slowly without his best friend to keep him company. George was lonelier than ever — word had spread throughout school about his confrontation with Simon’s gang, and the other children were avoiding George like the plague. Pretty soon it was Halloween, but George couldn’t find it in him to even  _ think  _ about putting on a costume and attempting to celebrate. 

George knew that Dream’s father was keeping him inside. There was no other explanation for his friend’s disappearance. Dream had warned him that his father was “old-fashioned” when it came to Muggle-borns, but seeing the way the older wizard had eyed George with disdain still stung immensely. 

George cursed his own stupidity. If he had just hidden in the woods and avoided Simon, Dream would have never confronted the gang in the first place. Dream might have still been allowed to come outside and play.

Dream might have been able to celebrate George’s birthday with him on the first day of November. 

George sighed and blinked back tears. It wouldn’t be his first lonely birthday. His mum would still make him a cake, at least. 

It was with a heavy heart that George went to bed early on the last day of October. He dreamed of stormy skies. 

George’s mum woke him up with a “Happy birthday, Georgie!” and his favorite pancakes for breakfast. George could barely even say thank you without crying. 

At school, no one remembered that it was George’s special day, but he didn’t remind them. There was only one person who could cheer him up, but that person was hidden away in a magical house under the watch of his racist wizard dad. 

George was so absorbed in his own self-pitying thoughts on his walk home from school that he didn’t even notice Dream sitting on his front doorstep until the taller boy was literally in front of his nose. 

“Happy birthday, George!”

George’s head snapped up immediately as he registered Dream’s presence. 

“Dream!” he exclaimed joyfully, throwing his arms around his best friend. Dream laughed and returned the hug. When the boys parted, George couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of his best friend wearing a silly cardboard party hat.

“You were gone for  _ so long!  _ How are you here?” George asked in amazement.

Dream shrugged and looked at his feet. “Dad sucks. But I explained everything to Mom, and she finally convinced him to let me back outside.”

“I can’t believe you remembered my birthday,” George said warmly, glancing down at the small box wrapped in brown paper that Dream held in his hands. The blond scoffed at the statement.

“Of  _ course  _ I remembered! You’re my best friend! There was no  _ way _ I was staying grounded for your birthday, I would have snuck out the window if I had to,” the taller boy declared before shoving the small package into George’s hands. “Now open it!”

George chuckled and began prying apart the wrapping paper carefully, which made Dream groan impatiently. 

“Just tear it open already!” 

“No.”

“Come  _ on,  _ George. You’re taking forever.”

“Just  _ wait _ , Dream. I’ve almost got it.”

With a final tug, the wrapping paper came completely off, revealing a small cardboard box with the words “for Gogi” scrawled messily on the lid. George rolled his eyes at the silly nickname and gave Dream a withering look.

“ _ Gogi _ ? Really?”

“Just open it!” 

So George opened the box, then gasped as what looked like a brown frog hopped out the second he lifted the lid.

Dream reached out and caught the thing before explaining his gift excitedly. “I wanted to get you something magical, since you got me a No-Maj toy for  _ my  _ birthday. So I got you all the best wizard candy! You have to be careful with the chocolate frogs, otherwise they can get away from you,” the taller boy said as he handed George the frog back. 

George was silent as he read the labels of some of the items in the box.  _ Chocolate Frogs. Pepper Imps. Fizzing Whizzbees.  _ He couldn’t even begin to guess at what some of the sweets were, but excitement overcame him at the thought of consuming anything  _ magical _ . 

“Do you, uh...” Dream asked hesitantly, “do you like my present?”

“I love it,” George answered earnestly. 

Dream grinned before glancing back down at the box, “…are you going to eat the chocolate frog?”

In response, George took a huge bite of the squirming chocolate creature, humming delightedly when the delicious chocolate melted on his tongue. He spent the rest of his eleventh birthday sampling the best sweets he’d ever tasted with the best friend he’d ever had. Everything was perfect. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

George found that time passed quicker when he had things to look forward to.

Dream was a godsend. Whenever George was having a bad day at school, all he needed to do was remember that his best friend was waiting for him when he got home and he instantly felt better. George didn’t know how he got through the day before he met Dream; whenever the other boy couldn’t come out to play for whatever reason, George didn’t know what to do with himself. 

Dream always left him in a good mood. It was like — well, it was like  _ magic _ .  


Soon enough, the school year had come and gone. Breezy autumn turned to ice-cold winter. Winter melted into spring. Spring eventually gave way to summer, and pretty soon George was getting ready for his last day of Year Six. 

“You mean after tomorrow you won’t be gone all day?” Dream asked excitedly. George nodded, smiling at the other boy’s enthusiasm. 

“I’ll be done with school until September.”

“And then school will be  _ fun _ , George, because you and I will go to Hogwarts together!”

George smiled at the thought of him and Dream going on magical adventures together in Scotland. He only hoped that he would actually get to go; he hadn’t heard any word from the prestigious magic school Dream had told him so much about. But George tried not to worry about it too much — Dream was confident that he would be getting a letter, and George trusted his best friend. 

“I can’t  _ wait  _ until I get my letter. I’ll finally get to leave home and be away from Dad and Drista,” Dream groaned. 

George snorted. “Drista’s only three years old, though. Why do you want to get away from  _ her _ ?” he asked his friend.

“Because she’s  _ so annoying _ ! Mom always makes me share my LEGOs with her, and she  _ chews  _ on them, George. It’s disgusting.”

George laughed at Dream’s complaint. Though he had never seen his best friend’s little sister, he could picture her clearly in his mind: a little blonde girl with freckles and big green eyes, the spitting image of her brother. He liked hearing about the chaos that the three-year-old caused in Dream’s home. She sounded fun. 

A question occurred to George, then. “Hey Dream?”

“What?”

“Your dad called you Clay. That’s your real name, right?”

Dream grimaced, but nodded. “Yeah. I don’t like it, though.”

“Why not?”

“It’s my dad’s name, too. Technically, I’m  _ Clay Ellsworth Aurelius Selwyn the third _ . But Dream suits me better, I think.”

George laughed at the ridiculously long title. “Yes, I like Dream. Is your sister’s name also very long and strange?”

Dream snorted. “Yep. Hers is  _ Drista Lucilia Florence Selwyn _ . Our names are pretty ridiculous.” 

George chuckled in agreement. “George Henry Davidson sounds pretty boring in comparison.”

“You know what sounds better than George?”

“Don’t you dare—”

“ _ Gogi _ .”

“ _ Don’t call me that!” _

_ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ _

The eighteenth day of June began as any other ordinary day. George and Dream met up that morning in the woods behind their houses, Dream carrying a quaffle in his hands. Free from the demands of the local school, George was able to spend all day playing with his best friend, which is exactly what he did. The boys took turns aiming the leather ball at different trees, pretending to be chasers on their very own two-person quidditch team. Time flew as it always did when they were having fun; pretty soon it was close to one in the afternoon. 

George cheered as Dream executed a particularly impressive quaffle throw, then checked his watch and sighed. 

“Mum wants me to come in for lunch in a few minutes, so we’ll have to take a break.”

Dream rolled his eyes. “You’re always so  _ hungry _ , George. For someone so tiny, you sure do eat a lot.”

George gave Dream a shove in response. “I’m not  _ tiny _ , you idiot. You’re just freakishly tall!”

“Whatever you say, tiny.”

Dream looked like he was going to say something else but suddenly became distracted by something above George’s head. He turned around to see what had caught his eye and spotted a freakishly large bird with dark gray feathers flying towards them, holding what looked like a rolled up piece of paper in its talons. 

As if in slow motion, the bird — an owl, George realized — swooped down and perched itself atop a tree stump next to Dream. Bewildered, George turned to Dream with a questioning look.

Dream didn’t look quite as confused as George did, which probably meant this was something magic-related.

“Why’s the bird here?” George asked, eyeing the owl curiously.

“Mail. Let me see who it’s for,” Dream responded, reaching out and grabbing the piece of paper. The taller boy unrolled it and began to read its contents out loud.

“Dear Mr. Selwyn,” Dream began. “We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted…” Dream’s green eyes widened and he gasped, scanning the rest of the letter hurriedly. George suddenly felt jittery.

“Dream? What does it say?”

Dream was silent for several more moments. George coughed, about to repeat his question, when his friend looked up at him with the widest smile on his freckled face.

“George! I’m going to Hogwarts!” he announced in a voice ringing with pure delight. George’s mouth fell open at the declaration.

“ _ That’s  _ your Hogwarts letter?” the shorter boy asked, astonished.

“Yes! I can’t believe it!” Dream began to prance around the tree stump excitedly, looking happier than a young child on Christmas Day. 

“Congratulations, Dream!” George said warmly, suddenly overcome with happiness for his best friend. The two boys danced around each other for a few more minutes before Dream abruptly stopped and turned to the gray owl. 

“Hey, Owl,” he addressed the bird. “Do you have another letter for George? He’s a wizard, too.”

George was just about to say something when a voice sounded behind them.

“Well, Mr. Selwyn, Mr. Davidson’s letter is being delivered in person.”

The boys snapped their heads around to face the mysterious voice, which turned out to belong to the shortest man George had ever seen. Dressed in light blue robes and a matching pointed hat, the top of the wizard’s head looked to George like it would barely reach his shoulder. 

Dream looked surprised at the wizard’s sudden appearance, but quickly crossed his arms, “Who are  _ you _ ?” he demanded.

“Ah, yes, allow me to introduce myself. I am Professor Filius Flitwick, Charms Master and Head of Ravenclaw House at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” the man proclaimed cheerfully. George’s eyes widened when the wizard then turned and spoke directly to  _ him. _

“On this occasion, Mr. Davidson, Headmistress McGonagall has appointed me as your special messenger.”

“Oh!” Dream gasped. “You came in person ‘cuz he’s No-Maj-born!”

“Indeed, Mr. Selwyn. It’s school policy to send messengers to Muggle-born households when delivering acceptance letters. Now, Mr. Davidson,” he addressed George. “Would you care to show me where you live? I believe we have quite a bit of explaining to do this evening.”

_ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ _

His parents took the news remarkably well.

Of course, they were both highly skeptical. Anyone would be skeptical of a man who introduced himself as a wizard teacher at a magic school. But Professor Flitwick was patient in his explanations, going so far as to demonstrate several spells to his parents to prove his magical identity. George particularly enjoyed when the man made the coasters on their coffee table perform a little dance with a flick of his wand.

“You’re saying that  _ our  _ Georgie is…magical?” his mum had asked, awe-struck. 

“Yes he is, Mrs. Davidson. He has quite a lot of magic, too, from what I’ve read in his file,” the wizard supplied. “The Ministry of Magic tracks all instances of underage magic, and quite a few instances have been traced to this very household.”

George’s parents went silent at that, and both turned to look at their son. George could see pride and wonder reflected in their facial expressions, and the knowledge that his parents were  _ pleased  _ by his abilities made his heart swell. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” said Professor Flitwick as he stood up from his chair, “I must be going home. If you have any further questions, please do not hesitate to send an owl to the castle. I very much look forward to seeing you in September, George.”

“Thank you, Professor,” George murmured, a blush coloring his cheeks. 

“Who knows,” Flitwick added as he adjusted his spectacles, “I may even have the pleasure of being your Head of House!”

With those words, the man disappeared with a loud pop, leaving George alone with his parents and a list of required school supplies. 

_ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ _

The rest of the summer passed in a blur. For Dream’s eleventh birthday, George purchased him a football with his pocket money. Dream loved the present and insisted that George teach him more about his “No-Maj sports.” As August came to a close, the boys’ excitement at the prospect of _finally_ going off to Hogwarts mounted. 

Everything became  _ real  _ to George when he and his parents had visited Diagon Alley in the center of London to purchase school supplies. There had been so many magical people wearing a wide array of beautiful robes; the sight prompted George to immediately try on his own school robes the second he returned home. Dream had made fun of him, but he knew that his best friend was just as excited to go off to school.

“My mom gave me a book about Hogwarts for my birthday,” Dream told George one afternoon. “I read all about the four Hogwarts Houses. I know my dad was in Slytherin, which kind of makes me want to be in whatever House is the  _ least  _ like that one.”

“What’s the difference between the Houses?” George inquired. Dream’s eyes went wide as he began to recall his knowledge excitedly. 

“Well, Slytherins are supposed to be cunning and ambitious, which I guess is why Dad was in that one. Then there’s Gryffindor, where all of the chivalrous and brave people go. The guy who delivered your letter was Head of Ravenclaw, which is where all the nerds are—”

“Sorry,  _ what _ ? Where all the  _ nerds  _ are? Come off it, what did the book actually say?”

“Ugh,  _ fine.  _ It said cleverness and creativity, which basically just makes it a nerd house. And then there’s Hufflepuff, who are the dependable, kindhearted ones.” 

George went quiet, contemplating the information. He decided that all of the options sounded fine; truthfully, he knew he would be thrilled no matter which House he was sorted into just because all of the Houses were magical. 

“I like Gryffindor. I hope I end up there,” Dream declared. “I think it would really make my dad mad.”

George shook his head, smiling at his friend’s logic. They were mere weeks away from embarking on a seven-year-long magical adventure, and Dream’s top priority was annoying his dad. It was just so  _ Dream _ .

“I can’t wait until September,” George said wistfully. 

“Me neither, Georgie. Me neither.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when I'll have time to finish the third chapter, but I'd appreciate it if in the mean time you peeps could help me by filling out this survey about Houses: https://forms.gle/vVrRGdxio21vnKRK9
> 
> Comments are very much appreciated <3


	3. Chapter Three || Year One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream and George are off to Hogwarts!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …THE GOOGLE FORM SORTING HAT HAS SPOKEN! Thank you for the 55 responses. I only overrode one of the survey questions because one respondent pointed out that Fundy’s House was actually confirmed on stream (thanks for that, btw!). If you don’t see someone mentioned, do not worry! There was no way that I was going to have all of these people in the same year because 1) I like some of the age dynamics, especially when it comes to Tommy & Tubbo, and 2) it would make this story very messy. All in due time, my friends!
> 
> Also: this chapter contains a few passages lifted straight from two different Harry Potter books. I will include references in the end notes :)

Drista looked exactly like George thought she would.

George watched from across the train platform as Dream bade farewell to his family. The three-year-old blonde girl was clinging to his leg while he was trying to shake her off; the sight made George smile to himself. The pair of siblings were, in a word, adorable. 

Dream’s mother seemed nice enough. She had even waved to George when Dream pointed him out to her in the crowd. Dream’s father, on the other hand…

Well. Needless to say, George did not receive a wave from Dream’s dad.

George’s own parents had just left King’s Cross. Platform nine and three-quarters had been quite the surprise to his entire family. George and his parents had unknowingly gone right past the entrance to the Hogwarts Express many times over the years on their trips in and out of London, never once suspecting that there was a magic train just on the other side of the barrier. 

Magic really was mind-boggling. 

George’s trolley was piled high with various trunks and books and school supplies which his parents had lovingly purchased for him a few weeks earlier. In his pocket was his very own wand — unicorn hair and beech wood, the wizard behind the counter at Ollivander’s had informed him. It had taken George six tries (and several small explosions) before his wand had finally chosen him. The feeling of the magical instrument in his hand was thrilling.

He glanced once again at his best friend, only to see Dream being spoken to by his father. George didn’t like the stern expression on the older pureblood’s face one bit. 

The Hogwarts Express gave a loud whistle, signaling that it was almost time for departure. After what felt like forever, Dream’s family finally turned and exited the platform, leaving their son alone at last. Dream immediately caught George’s eye in the crowd and pushed his own trolley towards the train. 

“George!” the blond boy greeted his friend with a smile. “This is _awesome_! Quick, let’s get on and find a place to put our stuff.”

So the friends boarded the Hogwarts Express together, squeezing past several other boys and girls of various ages. George followed Dream’s lead as the taller boy found an empty compartment a little ways down the aisle. George gratefully took one of the seats closest to the window and set his trunk down at his feet. Dream sat down directly across from him.

“I can’t believe this is really happening,” George murmured, eyes fixated on the busy train platform outside the window. 

“ _I_ can. I’ve been waiting for this my whole life.”

“ _Okay_ , Mr. Magic Boy, we get it. You’re destined to be a great wizard.”

“Heck yeah I am. And you’re also a magic boy, so shut up.”

Just then, there was a knock at the door to their compartment. A boy with curly brown hair peeked his head in and glanced at Dream and George curiously.

“Uh, hello. There aren’t any empty compartments left, so…do you mind if my friends and I come in?”

“Not at all,” Dream said with a friendly smile. The boy thanked him and slid the compartment door all the way open, allowing two more boys to enter. George glanced at the newcomers curiously. They all looked to be his age, but he asked them just to make sure.

“Are you all first-years?” he inquired. The other boys all nodded.

“Yes we are. And judging by the fact that you two aren’t wearing any House colors, I’m assuming you are as well?” the curly-haired boy asked in reply.

Dream nodded and decided to introduce himself. “I’m Dream,” he said, extending a hand towards the other boy good-naturedly.

“That’s an odd name. I’m Wilbur Soot. Pleased to meet you.”

The other two new boys introduced themselves as Alastair Eretson and Jebediah Schlatt. George thought it was odd that everyone except him and Dream seemed to introduce themselves with their first _and_ last names, but he chalked it up to yet another odd part of wizarding culture he had yet to understand.

“Am I supposed to call everyone by their last names, or…” George asked hesitantly, unsure of what the common practice was. 

“Just call me Eret. It’s what everyone does,” the boy named Eret supplied helpfully. 

“I prefer Schlatt. It’s _much_ easier than Jebediah,” Schlatt said with a smirk.

“As for me, Wilbur’s fine,” said Wilbur. 

“Alright then,” George said with a note of relief. “Wilbur, Eret, and Schlatt. Nice to meet you all. I’m George.”

The ride to Hogwarts was long but entertaining. George found himself taking a liking to the new boys. He quickly learned that he was the only Muggle-born in the group, which made him a bit self-conscious, but George soon realized that his blood status didn’t matter in the least to his future classmates. In fact, Schlatt asked him several questions about Muggle life which George answered happily. 

When the conversation in the compartment died down, Eret pulled out a deck of cards and suggested they play a few card games as the deck shuffled itself in mid-air. Dream reached over to close his gaping jaw with a snicker. 

They debated over which game to play before deciding that some bizarre magical version of poker, involving lots of card levitation, would be the easiest to teach George. He still ended up losing every hand.

Eventually, the sun outside the window began to set. Wilbur and Schlatt were now playing some other complicated magic card game while Eret spectated. Across from George, Dream yawned.

“We’re probably in Scotland by now,” the blond said quietly, nudging George’s leg with his foot. 

“We better be. We’ve been on this train for hours,” George grumbled in response. 

Dream smiled and pulled two objects wrapped in brightly-colored plastic out of his satchel. He extended one to George, who accepted it curiously. 

“What’s this?” he asked, as Dream tore open the wrapper on his to reveal a brown pastry with some sort of jelly in the middle. 

“It’s a cauldron cake,” the freckled boy said before taking a large bite out of the confection. George glanced down at his own wrapped pastry, noticing the words _Qizilbash Quality Confectionary_ printed on the front. Tentatively, George unwrapped his own cake and took a bite. 

It wasn’t bad, George decided. Certainly not the best cake he’d ever had, but the jelly in the center bubbled pleasantly in his mouth with every bite. 

George was just about to ask Dream what flavor the cake was when Wilbur suddenly pointed at something out the window. 

“Look, lads! I think that’s the castle!”

All five eleven-year-olds gathered close to the window at his words. Indeed, if he squinted, George could make out the faint outline of a castle shrouded in mist in the distance. As the train chugged onwards, the boys’ excitement mounted.

“My mum said that there’s a welcoming feast at the start of term,” Eret told the other boys. “I hope they have pumpkin pasties.”

“You’re thinking about the _food_ , Eret?” Wilbur asked with an eye roll. “I would think you’d be more excited about what House you’ll be sorted into. That’s what I can’t stop thinking about.”

“I can’t help that I’m starving,” Eret huffed

“My ma was in Hufflepuff,” Schlatt said. “Dad was in Ravenclaw. I wonder which one I’ll be in…”

“My parents were both in Gryffindor, so I hope that’s where I’ll be headed,” Eret chimed in. “What about you, George? Since your parents are Muggles, you probably don’t have a preference, right?”

George tilted his head and contemplated his answer. “I think I’d be happy anywhere,” he said after a few moments. “But blue is my favorite color, so Ravenclaw might be nice.”

Dream snorted and poked George’s shoulder. “ _Nerd_ ,” he teased, earning an eye roll from George. 

After what felt like ages, the train finally pulled into a dimly-lit railway station. A sign hanging above the platform read _Welcome to Hogsmeade!_ and George could see several waiting figures in long robes and pointed hats waiting to greet the students. 

A knock sounded on their compartment door. A second later, an older-looking blond boy wearing robes lined with blue stepped into their little room.

“Hello, first-years! My name is Phil and I’m one of twenty-four prefects at Hogwarts,” the boy introduced himself, pointing to a bright blue badge pinned to the front of his robes. “Leave your belongings on the train and proceed to the exit in an orderly fashion, please. First-years will cross the Black Lake by boat with Professor Hagrid — he’s quite tall, so you’ll know him when you see him. Welcome to Hogwarts!”

With that, Phil exited the compartment and proceeded to give the same speech to the students in the next section of the train. 

The five boys obediently made their way down the corridor and towards the exit. George stayed close to Dream as their little group scanned the platform for the so-called Professor Hagrid. Phil hadn’t been joking when he said the man was tall — the boys found the three-and-a-half meter Professor easily in the crowd. After about five minutes of waiting by the lake, the first-years were instructed to board the boats in groups of four. 

“You three go on ahead,” Dream quickly told Wilbur, Eret, and Schlatt when he realized there would be one person left out of the group. “George and I will take a different boat.”

George smiled, thankful that he had Dream for a best friend. 

Dream and George found a boat that was already occupied by two other students, and they carefully climbed inside. Their two other boat-mates were a boy with messy light brown hair and a girl with long, dark hair and an aloof look on her face. George waved to both of them, receiving a cheerful wave in return from the boy and nothing more than a sideways glance from the girl.

 _Well, that’s rude,_ George thought to himself about the girl. _Perhaps she’s just shy._

“Any more firs’-years? No? Right then – FORWARD!” Hagrid commanded, causing the little fleet of boats to begin moving on cue. 

The sight that awaited them as the boats carried them around a bend left George speechless. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle towering overhead as they sailed ever nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads as the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy which hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of under-ground harbor, where they clambered out onto the rocks. 

Once everyone was out of their boats, the students clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. George followed Dream as the group walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around a huge, oak front door.  
  
"Everyone here?” Hagrid asked loudly. Seemingly satisfied that no students were left behind, he raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

The door opened immediately. A tall witch with graying hair stood there, her expression stern as she took in the sight of the children.

"The firs' years, Headmistress McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”

George followed the crowd of eleven-year-olds into an entrance hall so big his entire house could have fit in it. The stone walls of the hall were lit with flaming torches and the ceiling was so high that George couldn’t even see where it ended. The group of wide-eyed children were escorted into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously. 

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” the Headmistress said. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. Professor Hagrid will return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly.”

Murmurs broke out among the students while they waited for Hagrid to come fetch them. George was suddenly very nervous — how would they be sorted? Would there be a test given to them in front of the whole school? What if he embarrassed himself in front of everyone?

A nudge from Dream snapped him out of his anxious thoughts. 

“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” the taller boy whispered in George’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine. 

“I probably am,” George admitted, shrugging helplessly. “I’m scared I’ll make a fool of myself in front of the whole school.”

Dream smiled at this. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I really don’t think the Sorting Ceremony will be too bad. And even if you _do_ embarrass yourself in front of everybody, I’ll still be your friend.”

George chuckled at his friend’s words, shaking his head to himself. He really _was_ lucky to have Dream.

Suddenly, what looked like a ghost phased through the wall in front of George, sending a wave of shrill screams from the crowd of first-years and making George cling to Dream’s arm in fear.

“First-years? How wonderful!” the pearly-white and transparent man exclaimed, ignoring the panicked students, “Are you all waiting to be sorted?”

The boy who had shared a boat with Dream and George began giggling nervously, as several others nodded mutely.

“How exciting! I’m the Fat Friar. I hope to see some of you in Hufflepuff. It’s the best House there ever was!” 

With those words, the specter vanished into thin air, allowing the first-years to finally calm down.

Before George could fully process the fact that the castle was apparently _haunted_ , Professor Hagrid was opening the door to their little room and instructing them to form a line. George did as he was told and fell in line with Dream behind him. The group filed out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

George had never seen anything so splendid. The hall was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair above four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were set with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting.

Professor Hagrid led the first years up there, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, George looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars.

“It looks just like the sky outside!” he heard Dream whisper.

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn’t simply open on to the heavens.

A four-legged stool was placed in front of the first-years. On top of the stool was a pointed wizard’s hat, a lot like the ones that most of the magical people George had seen wore. The hat looked extremely filthy, as if it hadn’t been washed for a century.

Suddenly, a rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth. The hat began to sing.

“Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
  
But don't judge on what you see,  
  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
  
A smarter hat than me.  
  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
  
And I can cap them all.  
  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
  
So try me on and I will tell you  
  
Where you ought to be.  
  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
  
Where they are just and loyal,  
  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil;  
  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
  
if you've a ready mind,  
  
Where those of wit and learning,  
  
Will always find their kind;  
  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
  
You'll make your real friends,  
  
Those cunning folk use any means  
  
To achieve their ends.  
  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
  
And don't get in a flap!  
  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!”

The entire student body applauded once the song was finished. George felt a sense of relief when he realized he wouldn’t have to pass any sort of test to get into a House, but the thought of putting that dirty old cap on his head didn’t particularly appeal to him.

Did wizards get lice?

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," Headmistress McGonagall said. "Ackerman, Abigail!”

The whole school waited with bated breath as a short girl with curly red hair stepped forward and reached for the hat. It was on her head for approximately five seconds before the hat made its decision.

“GRYFFINDOR!” 

The Gryffindor table erupted in excited shouts and congratulatory cheers. Abigail looked immensely pleased with the decision as she pranced over to take a seat next to her new Housemates. 

Next was a boy by the name of _Baratashvili, Giorgi._ He was quickly declared a Hufflepuff, much to his excitement. When _Cook, Talia_ was called, George knew that his own name would likely be called out next.

Talia also went to Hufflepuff, and then —

“Davidson, George.”

George’s legs felt like they were made of lead as he walked up to the stool. Trying not to look like he was about to pass out, he quickly put the old hat on his head.

“Hello there, George,” a voice said in his ear. “Don’t be nervous, now. Let’s see…no, Slytherin won’t do. Perhaps you’d feel at home in Hufflepuff? Yes, you _do_ possess quite the moral compass…and such a fierce sense of loyalty!”

 _Will I be in Hufflepuff, then?_ George thought.

“Maybe. Although, I _could_ place you in Gryffindor, what with your chivalry…though I think they’re a bit too brazen for you, George. That leaves…ah, yes. I see it now. Your heart is sound, but your passionate curiosity is what _really_ drives you. Your new House will foster that thirst for knowledge and help you realize your dreams. You belong in RAVENCLAW!”

The hat was suddenly lifted from George’s head. His eyes snapped to the Ravenclaw table, where countless smiling faces were clapping for him and cheering his name. To George’s colorblind eyes, the sight was magnificent — the table was adorned with decorations that were all a bold, breathtaking _blue_. 

The prefect who he’d briefly met earlier — Phil — patted him on the back when he’d sat down. “Welcome to the best House in the castle!” he said to George warmly.

A girl named _Davis, Daviana_ was sent to Slytherin, and pretty soon a name that George recognized was called out. 

“Eretson, Alastair!”

Eret walked up to the hat eagerly. Almost an entire minute passed before the hat spoke.

“RAVENCLAW!” it declared, much to George’s delight. 

Eret made his way to their table and sat next to George with a grin. “Alright, George?” he asked with shining eyes. 

“Better than ever!” George replied enthusiastically. 

The Sorting Ceremony continued. The boy who George recognized from his boat was next, and after several moments, _Jacobs, Karl_ became a Huffelpuff. 

Several more students were sorted before George saw another familiar face approach the hat. “Minx, Justine,” the Headmistress read out, prompting the grumpy-looking girl who had also been on George’s boat to walk forward.

Three seconds was all the time that the Sorting Hat needed. “SLYTHERIN!” it announced, and the Minx girl strutted over to the corresponding table. Unlike the other first-years, she showed no signs of excitement on her face. 

George barely paid attention to the students who came next. A few more Ravenclaws joined his table, but all George could think about was Dream. He saw his best friend standing next to Wilbur and Schlatt as all three boys waited for their surnames to be called. 

_Robinson, Adele_ joined the Ravenclaw table. George barely even glanced at her, too absorbed in his thoughts about Dream. 

“Schlatt, Jebediah.”

Schlatt eagerly pulled the hat over his eyes, only to take it back off seconds later after he was declared a Slytherin. 

Finally, the name George had been waiting for was called.

“Selwyn, Clay.”

The entire hall went quiet. Beside George, Eret tensed. 

“He lied about his name?” Eret asked George quietly. George stiffened and shook his head.

“He didn’t _lie_. All of his friends call him Dream.”

Eret snorted. “That’s a lie to me, George. I get it though, what with _that_ surname.”

George shot his Housemate a questioning look. All around them, students were whispering to each other about the blond boy making his way towards the hat. 

“The Selwyns were all Death Eaters,” Eret told George. “Corvus Selwyn is in Azkaban right now for the torture of Xenophilius Lovegood during the Second Wizarding War.”

George had no clue what a Death Eater was or what Azkaban was or who the Xenophilius person was, but he could tell by the grave way in which Eret told George the information that these were all very significant terms. 

So Dream came from an infamous family. Who cared? George certainly didn’t.

The Sorting Hat was on Dream’s head for a very long time. The entire Great Hall was tense, every eye fixed firmly on the boy with the large hat pulled over his eyes. 

Just when George thought the hat might have broken, a single word rang out.

“SLYTHERIN!”

Only the Slytherin table applauded the decision. When Dream took off the hat, he looked furious. George wanted to run to his friend, to tell him that everything would be okay and that it was just a stupid House, but Dream quickly disappeared from view when Schlatt pulled the blond to sit next to him at their table.

Dream would be okay, George decided. He wasn’t alone. Schlatt was also in Slytherin, and perhaps Dream would make friends with the strange Minx girl who had been on their boat. Everything would be alright. 

George refocused just in time to hear “Soot, Wilbur” called out. It took the hat about a minute, but the tall curly-haired boy was soon happily joining George and Eret at the Ravenclaw table. 

“Hello there, lads!” he greeted the two first-years happily. “You got to be blue after all, George!”

“I know! It’s incredible!”

The Sorting Ceremony concluded soon after that. Eret let out a squeal of delight when it was announced that the feast would begin, and George saw Wilbur roll his eyes fondly at the boy’s enthusiasm. As food magically appeared on the table before him, George realized that he was absolutely _ravenous._

The food at the banquet tasted better than anything George had ever eaten in his life. He ate until he felt like he would burst, and even then he was tempted to sneak a pumpkin pasty under his robes for later. 

After everyone was finished eating, the Headmistress stood up and began reading from a piece of paper. 

“Before your prefects show you to your dormitories, I have a few start-of-term notices to give you,” she said in a clear voice. “First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. Mr. Filch, the caretaker, would like me to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. As for quidditch, trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.”

Several students seemed to perk up at the mention of quidditch. George wondered if Dream would try out for the Slytherin team. 

“And now to conclude this evening, let us all sing our Hogwarts school song in honor of my predecessor, Albus Dumbledore, who died defending this very castle. Everybody pick their favorite tune, and we shall begin.”

George tried to sing along, but it was an impossible task due to the fact that everyone was singing a different melody and George didn’t know the lyrics.

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

Just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot.”

Once the song concluded, the prefects stood up and began to lead the other students out of the Great Hall and to the various common rooms. George tried to say goodbye to Dream before he was escorted up a marble staircase, but he couldn’t find his best friend among the crowd.

The Ravenclaw students walked for what felt like ages. Phil led them down several different corridors and up countless flights of stairs, making George wonder if their common room was even _in_ the castle, or if maybe Phil was pulling some sort of prank on them. Eventually though, the group paused by a very long and daunting spiral staircase. 

“This here is Ravenclaw Tower,” Phil announced. “Up this staircase is the entrance to the most beautiful common room in the castle. We’re on the top floor, which means Ravenclaws get to enjoy a spectacular view of the entire school grounds! Alright everyone, let’s go!”

The staircase was steep and took a lot of effort to climb. After what felt like ages, George, Eret, Wilbur, and the other first-years all made it to the top and gathered around Phil, panting for air. 

“Can we go in, please? I’m exhausted,” a girl George recognized from the Sorting Ceremony asked the prefect. Phil smiled at the question and launched into another explanation.

“If you can go in or not depends on whether you can successfully answer the eagle knocker,” Phil explained, gesturing to a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle on the door. “Every time you enter the common room, the eagle will give you a riddle. You get one shot to answer it correctly; if you don’t, then you have to wait for the next person to come along and help you answer it.”

Beside George, Eret groaned. “You mean we have to pass a test every time we need to get inside?” he asked, voice colored with disbelief. 

“Think of it more as a... daily exercise!”

“Isn’t just climbin’ up this staircase enough of a daily exercise?” Somebody called out from the crowd.

Phil chuckled, “Alright then, a daily exercise _for the brain_ , is that better? Only those with minds worthy of Rowena Ravenclaw herself are permitted to enter our common room, and the riddles are designed to allow in only those who possess true wisdom!”

“So if we fail we’re stupid?”

“You said it, not me, I’m just followin’ the script,” Phil snickered, “You wanna give it a shot?” he asked the heckler, who muttered in disagreement. “Fine then, how about you?” he asked the girl from earlier. 

George watched as she hesitantly reached out and gave the knocker three sharp knocks. 

Suddenly, the bronze eagle came to life. A clear, whimsical voice sounded from its beak as it gave her a riddle. 

“Where does one enter blind and exit seeing?”

All at once, the group went silent, thinking. Phil smiled at the sight of so many pensive faces.

“Well, Robinson? What is your answer?” he asked the girl who had used the knocker. 

“I don’t know,” she said, unsure. After another encouraging smile from Phil, she cleared her throat and guessed.

“Um…a hospital? Like St. Mungo’s? They might be able to cure blindness,” she told the knocker. The door remained closed.

“Ooh, tough luck. Next!” the prefect called out.

Wilbur stepped forward, this time. The eagle repeated the riddle when he knocked on it. 

“I think it’s sleep,” he said. “When you go to sleep, you close your eyes, so you’re blind. Then you wake up and you can see again. So the answer to the question is unconsciousness.”

 _Surely that’s the answer,_ George thought to himself. Wilbur had sounded so confident in his response, and George thought it was a logical enough assumption. To his surprise, however, the knocker remained silent and the door stayed closed. 

“Interesting approach, but not quite, it seems,” Phil told Wilbur with a shrug. “Next!”

“Why don’t you give it a try, George?” Eret whispered into George’s ear, nudging his shoulder. 

“I’m not sure that I could—”

“George! You were talkin, get up here!” Phil called, overhearing his reply to Eret. 

Not wanting to look scared, George gulped and approached the knocker. It repeated its question once more, and George closed his eyes as he thought about the riddle. 

_Think, George,_ he thought to himself. _Enter blind. Exit seeing. Blind. Seeing. Blindness can be physical, like your own colorblindness, but it can also be a state of mind._

The answer came to George suddenly. “A school,” he stated. “I think that blindness here refers to ignorance, like how you can be blind to a person’s suffering, for example. When you enter school, you are ignorant, but you leave with knowledge. Therefore, school opens your eyes to the world.”

There was a second’s pause in which George thought he had failed, but then the door swung open. 

“Well done, George! That’s a Ravenclaw answer if I’ve ever heard one,” Phil congratulated the first-year. 

The children finally entered the common room, gasping at what they saw. Phil hadn’t been exaggerating, the Ravenclaw common room was beautiful. The room was wide and circular, airier than any other room George had ever seen. Graceful arched windows punctuated the walls, which were hung with blue-and-bronze silks: by day, George was sure that they would have a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains. The ceiling was domed and painted with stars, which were echoed in the midnight-blue carpet. There were tables, chairs, and bookcases, and in a niche opposite the door stood a tall statue of white marble.

“Blimey,” Eret whispered at the sight.

“Indeed,” Wilbur agreed. 

“That there is a statue of our founder, Rowena Ravenclaw,” Phil explained with pride, “Our dormitories are in turrets off the main tower; there are four students to a room. You’ll know which one’s yours based off of the names on the doors. Make friends with your roommates, because you’ll be living together for the next seven years!”

George wondered who he’d be placed with. There were only eight Ravenclaw boys in his year, so there was a good chance he’d be with Eret or Wilbur.

“Oh, and by the way, your belongings have already been transported to your rooms, so off you go! And once again: well done on becoming a member of the cleverest, quirkiest and most interesting house at Hogwarts!”

The first-years excitedly climbed the staircases to the dormitories. George made his way up one of the boys’ turrets, scanning the doors for his name. Finally, he stopped in front of a door with four names on the front of it:

Davidson, George

Eretson, Alastair

Soot, Wilbur

Technoblade, Dave

George grinned when he saw that two of his roommates were Eret and Wilbur. He couldn’t quite remember hearing the name Technoblade at the Sorting Ceremony, but it was probably because he had tuned out by the time the surnames beginning with the letter T were called. 

The room looked just as Phil had described. George glimpsed the trunk which contained his belongings placed underneath the bed by the window.

“You got the window? Lucky lad,” Wilbur told him as he found his own bed. Eret soon came in and complained that his bed was too close to the door, and wondered out loud if he could get away with swapping his bed with their fourth roommate’s before the other boy got there.

“Nah, I like my bed, thanks,” came a voice from the front of the room that George recognized as the heckler from before. He turned towards the door and saw a boy with straight brown hair and rectangular-framed glasses looking at Eret with a quirked eyebrow. 

“Oh, hey! I wasn’t going to actually swap our beds, um, I was just…joking?” Eret stammered.

Their fourth roommate smirked. “Sure.” 

“I remember you from the ceremony,” Wilbur interjected. “Technoblade, was it? Or would you prefer we call you something else?”

“Call me Techno.”

“Techno it is. The name’s Wilbur. Pleasure to meet you,” Wilbur said pleasantly, extending a hand towards their new roommate. Techno shook it before turning to George expectantly.

“I’m George,” the shorter boy introduced himself. 

“Oh, you solved the door riddle. Good for you, I woulda fallen asleep in the hallway if I had to listen to that riddle one more time,” Techno nodded appreciatively. 

“Well then, why didn’t _you_ try to solve it?” Wilbur asked with a smile.

Techno shrugged, “The carpet outside isn’t _that_ uncomfortable, it wouldn’ta been a big deal.”

Eret snickered, “Well I’m Eret, and I think the beds here are definitely an upgrade from the hallway carpet.”

Once the boys had finished introducing themselves, they took turns getting ready for bed. There was only one washroom between the four of them, which was a _tad_ inconvenient, but George was optimistic that they would figure out some sort of schedule in due time. 

George couldn’t wait for the next day to arrive. There were so many things he was excited to see and do, not to mention so much he wanted to tell Dream. His thoughts drifted to his best friend, and George wondered how the other boy was coping after the ceremony. George hoped Dream had nice roommates. 

That night, George dreamt of magic castles and starry skies. 

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

George awoke to a loud knocking on his door. 

It took him several moments to remember where he was. When he opened his eyes, he was gazing up at the blue canopy of his four poster bed. 

His four poster bed in Ravenclaw Tower at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

“Rise and shine, boys! Your class schedules are downstairs in the common room. Breakfast will only be served in the Great Hall for the next forty-five minutes!” shouted a voice that George recognized as belonging to Phil the prefect. 

On the opposite side of the room, Eret groaned. 

“What time is it?” he rasped, voice still scratchy from sleep. 

George glanced at his watch which he’d placed on his bedside table the night before. “It’s almost seven in the morning,” he answered, stretching his limbs before climbing out of bed. He briefly contemplated taking a shower, but decided he’d much rather shower in the evening, so he settled on simply washing his face and brushing his teeth. When George reached into his trunk to pull out a pair of school robes, he noticed that the inside lining had turned blue during the night and a Ravenclaw crest had appeared where a breast pocket would be. His tie had similarly changed color and was now striped blue and bronze. 

He was truly a Ravenclaw now, and the thought filled him with pride. 

He made his way downstairs with Wilbur, who had quickly gotten ready and insisted they walk to the Great Hall together. On their way out of the common room, a tall girl with long dreadlocks and a blue prefect badge pinned to the front of her robe asked them their names. After a few moments, she handed them each a bit of parchment on which their names were printed.

“These are your schedules. They’re enchanted to be waterproof, so don’t worry if you spill anything on them. If you lose your own schedule, you can check your friends’; all first-year Ravenclaws have the same classes.”

“Thank you,” George said, dipping his head politely at the prefect. He tucked the parchment in his pocket, resolving to take a closer look at his class schedule after breakfast.

“I’ll be honest with you, George,” Wilbur said to the shorter boy as they descended the spiral staircase that led down from Ravenclaw Tower. “I have no clue where the Great Hall is.”

“Me neither,” George replied, grimacing.

It took them about twenty minutes to find the Great Hall. One of the ghosts had watched them take six consecutive wrong turns and decided to take pity on them, giving them directions. George didn’t know if he’d ever get used to interacting with literal _ghosts_ , but he was nonetheless grateful for the help. 

When the boys entered the Great Hall, Wilbur made a beeline for the Ravenclaw table. George hesitated, and Wilbur seemed to understand his intentions immediately.

“Go on, George. I’ll save you a seat,” the curly-haired boy offered kindly.

George thanked his Housemate before speed-walking towards the Slytherin students. He picked Dream out immediately; his best friend was sitting across from Schlatt all the way at the end of the table, half-heartedly peeling a hardboiled egg.

Schlatt saw George first. The Slytherin boy smiled at the Ravenclaw and pointed him out to Dream, whose face immediately lit up upon seeing the shorter boy.

“George!” Dream exclaimed, waving his best friend over. 

George paid no mind to the odd looks that the other Slytherins cast his way; he only had eyes for the freckled blond first-year. “Dream,” George greeted his friend warmly, taking a seat next to the other boy at the Slytherin table.

“How’s your nerd House?” Dream asked good-naturedly, nodding at the Ravenclaw crest now adorning George’s robes. 

George grinned and began to recount the events of the previous night, telling Dream all about the winding staircases and the common room and his three roommates. Dream shook his head when George told him how he solved the eagle knocker’s riddle.

“See? Nerd. I’m happy for you, though,” Dream chuckled. 

“Thanks. How was your night? What happened after the Ceremony?” George inquired. Dream’s smile faltered at the question, and the blond boy shrugged. 

“Saw the common room. There’s no cool riddle to get in or anything, just a password. It’s in the dungeons, which is pretty creepy. Everything in our common room is green, which is cool, I guess.”

“He has the best roommate ever,” Schlatt butted in, prompting Dream to roll his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m stuck with this guy and two other snakes.” 

Just then, the girl who George recognized as Justine Minx walked by the table and glared at the three first-years. “Who invited the smurf?” she sneered, appraising his blue robes.

“I did. Got a problem, Minx?” Dream shot back.

“This isn’t his table, Selwyn.”

“Oh, come on. No one cares. Just go finish your breakfast and leave us alone.”

Minx’s eyes narrowed, but she turned around and left the boys to their chat. 

“I better return to the Ravenclaw table. Wilbur said he’d save me a seat,” George said reluctantly. 

“Wait, George. Can we compare our schedules first?” Dream asked, pulling out his own timetable. George enthusiastically agreed, and the best friends spent the next several moments scanning each other’s pieces of parchment.

“Look! We have DADA together!” Dream pointed out excitedly.

“What’s DADA?”

“Defense Against the Dark Arts. Read your schedule, you dummy.”

George _did_ read the schedule, noticing another shared class as he did so. 

“We’re in Potions together, too!” the shorter boy exclaimed. “ _And_ History of Magic!”

“Not in Flying together, though. Bummer.”

“Oh, look, we have Astronomy together, too — wait, _what?_ They expect us to come to class at _midnight?_ ”

Schlatt snorted at George’s scandalized expression. “You have to be able to see the stars, buddy.”

“ _Still._ I’m going to have to start liking coffee if I want to stay awake for _that_ class.”

Just then, a Slytherin prefect walked over to where they were sitting.

“Oi, first-years! Breakfast finishes in ten minutes, so hurry up!” she called out before pointing at George. “And _you_ should get back to the Ravenclaw table.”

George muttered an apology to the prefect and jogged back to the blue table where his roommates were already finishing up their meals. 

“Took you long enough,” Wilbur said as George sat down next to him. “How’s Selwyn?”

“ _Dream_ ,” George corrected, “is fine. He’s rooming with Schlatt.”

Wilbur nodded at the words. “Good for him,” he said. “Schlatt’s alright. Bit of a git, sometimes, but not a bad guy. Some of the other Slytherins look downright _rotten_.”

“I think they look alright,” Techno said, his eyes scanning the Slytherin table appraisingly. “The talkin’ hat was thinkin’ ‘bout putting me in there. Seemed to change its mind at the last minute, though.”

Eret’s eyes widened. “The same thing happened to me! It kept muttering about how I would fit in well with that crowd. Guess it was never meant to be, though.”

Suddenly, a transparent glowing head phased through the table right in between the boys, causing George to choke on a bite of croissant. 

“Bloody hell!” Eret spluttered, nearly spilling his goblet of pumpkin juice. 

“Sorry to interrupt, boys, but your classes begin in ten minutes, and I wouldn’t want to see any students from _my_ House arriving late on the first day,” the ghost — a woman, George realized — informed them in a quiet voice. 

“Are you the Gray Lady? Our House ghost?” Techno asked, seemingly unfazed by the appearance of the specter. 

The ghostly woman smiled. “That I am, child. Now hurry along! Don’t be late!” she said before disappearing in a cloud of white mist. 

Finding their way to the correct classroom was very difficult. Phil had informed them the previous night that there were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and George was sure the coats of armor could walk.

Eventually, though, they made it to Transfiguration. Their professor — a tall, dark-skinned man with swept back brown hair and piercing brown eyes — greeted them with a nod and instructed them to take their seats. There were several Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students already sat at desks around the room, and George waved to the boy he’d met on the boat the night before. 

_What was his name, again? Kyle?_ George hoped that he would remember it by the end of the lesson. 

When everyone was present, their professor introduced himself as Professor Talbott Winger, former Ravenclaw and registered animagus. Before George could ask what an _animagus_ was, the wizard before them had morphed into an eagle.

“That’s so _cool!_ ” the Hufflepuff boy whose name George couldn’t remember shouted excitedly. Their professor flapped his wings before turning back into a human in midair. 

“It _is_ cool, Mr. Jacobs. Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," he said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned. Now please open _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ to page four. Today, you will learn about the Transfiguration alphabet.”

George opened his textbook, pulling out a quill and new roll of parchment to take notes. As Professor Winger began his lecture on the twenty-six symbols that made up the Transfiguration alphabet, George felt giddy with excitement.

This was all _real._ He was _really_ a wizard, and he was going to spend the next seven years of his life studying the world of magic. George couldn’t wait to learn _everything_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so much fun to write. Let me know what you guys thought! Also, I have another survey y'all can fill out if you like. It's about future updates. Here is the link: https://forms.gle/MpGfn5etakXwDZhG8
> 
> Also, I am setting a tentative date for the next chapter release: Friday, October 23. Hopefully I can make it :)
> 
> References:  
> Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, chapters 6 & 7 (descriptions of the castle + McGonagall quotes & songs), chapter 8 (description of hallway + McGonagall quote)  
> Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, chapter 29 (description of Ravenclaw common room)  
> Harry Potter Wiki (https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Ravenclaw_Girls%27_Dormitory) (description of Ravenclaw common room)  
> Class schedules generated thanks to this spreadsheet generator by u/LittleDinghy on Reddit: https://www.reddit.com/r/HPfanfiction/comments/b93g9f/harry_potter_and_the_hogwarts_class_schedules_a/


	4. Chapter Four || Year One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream challenges Techno to a duel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I'm a bit early with this one because I was so happy after midterms that I just poured it into my fic lol. I hope you guys like it :)

George soon found out that there was a lot more to magic than waving his wand and saying a few funny words. 

He hadn’t experienced a single burst of uncontrolled magic since he’d stepped foot inside the confines of the castle. The tingling feeling was still _there,_ an ever-present warmth just beneath his skin, but George had to _work_ to unlock it, now. 

That was the thing George realized in his first week at Hogwarts — magic was _hard._ The first-years hadn’t even begun to use their wands in most of their classes yet, instead being asked by their professors to complete staggering amounts of homework and read countless pages of theory from their textbooks. He often stayed awake past curfew, scribbling notes onto parchment by the light of the fire in the common room. 

It was exhausting, but George loved every second of it.

Dream, on the other hand, complained non-stop.

“This _sucks_ ,” he groaned one evening as the two boys attempted to complete a short essay question on the invention of self-stirring cauldrons for their History of Magic class. Rather, _George_ attempted to complete the essay question; Dream only seemed interested in whining about how useless the subject was. 

“Professor Binns is so boring!” the blond groaned. “Why would they even let a ghost teach a class?”

George hummed, flipping the page of his textbook. “I dunno, Dream,” he said. “I find his class quite interesting. You wizards have had magic for _years_ and only got around to inventing the self-stirring cauldron in _1962_? Just think about how much more could have been accomplished in the field of Potionmaking if—”

“You are _such_ a nerd.”

The comment made the tips of George’s ears go red, which made Dream laugh and earned them a _shush_ from an annoyed Madam Pince.

“Whatever,” George grumbled, pouting. “Write your own essay, then, if I’m such a nerd.”

At this, Dream changed his tune. 

“ _Noooo_ , Georgie! I’m sorry. I need your Ravenclaw brain.”

“Ask me nicely.”

Dream gave George the biggest puppy-dog eyes. “Please?”

“Please _what_?” George prompted, enjoying his friend’s theatrics. 

“ _Please_ help me write this essay, oh wise Georgie the Ravenclaw?”

“Fine. You owe me, though.”

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

  
  


As the weeks at Hogwarts passed, George noticed that Dream didn’t spend very much time around his fellow Slytherins. 

At first, George hadn’t asked him about it. He remembered how angry the blond boy had seemed after the Sorting Ceremony, and George didn’t want to say anything that would put his friend back in a sour mood. Just _mentioning_ Dream’s House brought a scowl to his freckled face. 

Plus, George _enjoyed_ having Dream by his side. They had settled into a comfortable routine at Hogwarts: Dream would eat breakfast at the Slytherin table with Schlatt before heading off to his morning classes, then eat lunch and dinner with George and his roommates at the Ravenclaw table. The prefects let them get away with their table-swapping, for the most part. Phil (or Philza, as most of his Housemates affectionately called him) took pity on Dream when it became obvious that almost all of the blond’s friends were Ravenclaws.

One day, an owl swooped down and dropped a letter on Dream’s lap while he was talking to George during lunch. 

“Who’s it from?” George inquired, stabbing a potato with his fork.

Dream paused to open the letter, then immediately tore it in half and glared at the shreds of parchment. George wondered what the letter could have said to make his best friend react in such a way. The other first-year Ravenclaws were similarly taken aback.

“What’s gotten into you, Selwyn?” Techno asked before George could say anything, giving the blond boy a curious look.

The question made Dream’s eyes flash and face morph into a scowl. “Don’t call me that,” he snapped.

Techno looked surprised for a second, but he quickly shrugged it off with a snicker, “ _Someone’s_ got his wand in a knot today.”

Dream whirled around to face the other boy, looking murderous. “It’s _Dream_ , troll-brain. Get it into that Ravenclaw head already.”

“Let’s all calm down here, lads,” Wilbur said, putting a hand on Techno’s shoulder, who eyed it for a moment before turning back to Dream.

“Listen, _Dream_ ,” Techno massaged the bridge of his nose, “You don’t needa make a huge deal outta your own name. If it really bothers you that much you can go change it, just remind me when I slip up, it’s that easy.”

“But you _always_ slip up, you’re not even _trying_ to remember!” Dream yelled, looking defeated, “Whatever, I’m leaving, see you later George.” He said curtly, gathering his textbooks as he stood from the table.

Before George could respond, Techno muttered under his breath, “You’re bein’ really dramatic. I thought you hated your dad, are you really gonna follow in his footsteps and run away the second your side starts losin’?” 

The boys fell quiet immediately.

Wilbur coughed nervously. “Techno, was that really—” 

Techno huffed, rolling his eyes, “Listen, I get it if this kid wants to pretend like nothin’ happened and like his name means nothin’ but _my_ father died fighting on the _right_ side of that war, Wilbur.”

“Techno, Dream didn’t mean—” George began, trying to diffuse the situation.

“I get what you’re tryna do, George, but regardless of what he _meant_ with this whole ‘Dream’ thing it doesn’t change the fact that he’s tryin’ to hide a name that has hurt a ton of people.” Techno explained, his eyes narrowing at the plate in front of him, “It just feels like he’s tryin’ to erase history instead of ownin’ up the fact that his family was a bunch of death eaters.”

“I-I’m not trying to ‘erase’ anything!” Dream exclaimed, “Everyone _knows_ who my family is regardless of what I have them call me! I can’t _hide_ from it, okay? Nobody else has a problem calling me Dream except _you_!”

Techno considered this for a moment before shaking his head, “Sorry man, I just can’t respect it. People _didn’t_ know who you were instantly, you were hidin’ behind a fake name until you got exposed. To me it just makes you look like a coward.”

“I’m no coward,” Dream hissed.

“Then prove it,” Techno shrugged. 

“Fine. Duel me. Tomorrow. In the courtyard. Midnight.”

“Woah woah woah, duel?! Nah, dude, I just want you to own up to your name, pay some reparations or somethin’—.”

“What are you, _scared?”_

Techno's surprised expression instantly morphed into a glare. “Alright. You’re on.”

Dream grinned, finally departing from the table as he stormed off.

Techno huffed, “Well there goes _my_ Wednesday night.” He muttered, poking his fork at the food in front of him.

George paled, his appetite suddenly gone. A duel? They didn’t even _know_ any offensive spells yet. What was Dream thinking?

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

“Let me in, you stupid bird head!”

A comical sight greeted George when the brunet arrived at the entrance to his common room after his Herbology lesson. Dream was standing in front of the door, pointing his wand at the bronze eagle knocker threateningly, as if he could intimidate it into granting him entrance.

“Uh…Dream?” George called out, puzzled.

The blond boy spun around at the sound of George’s voice, a blush coloring his cheeks once he realized he’d been caught trying to break in. 

“Oh, uh, hey George.”

“Why are you threatening our knocker?”

“It wouldn’t let me in even though I answered the stupid question.”

George paused, trying not to snort at the way Dream appeared so _angry_ at the bronze eagle. 

“And _why_ are you trying to break into our common room?”

“I need your help,” Dream said. “I need to talk to you about my duel with Techno.”

George quieted, expression turning serious. “You know Techno’s in Ravenclaw too, right? Our common room probably isn’t the best place to talk.”

“Fine, then, whatever. We can go to the library or something. I just need your help.”

“Okay, let me put my books away.”

Dream snorted. “Good luck getting in. This bird doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

George gave the knocker three loud knocks, bringing the eagle to life.

“ _To be, or not to be?_ ” the familiar whimsical voice asked. 

“See?” Dream said. “What kind of an idiotic question is that? It’s not even a freaking _riddle—_ ”

“I don’t think the answers are mutually exclusive. Life is not inherently positive, negative, or neutral, so there is no ‘correct’ answer, because that would imply that we can assign objective value to existence. It’s all up to the individual.” George said, expression unfazed.

The door swung open.

Dream gaped at the shorter boy, seemingly at a loss for words.

George chuckled. “It already asked this one once when I was with Phil,” He explained, “What’d _you_ say?”

Dream looked embarrassed. “I said yes.”

“ _What_? It wasn’t even a yes or no question!”

“I don’t know! I thought I could outsmart it!”

“Idiot.”

“Nerd.”

George rolled his eyes. “Meet me in the library in ten minutes.”

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

Ten minutes later, the boys were at their favorite library table, copies of _Defensive Magical Theory_ and _A Beginner’s Guide to Dueling_ spread out before them. 

“Find me a spell that’ll teach him a lesson,” Dream instructed his friend. “Like the Tempest Jinx. That one makes bolts of lightning strike from the sky.”

“Dream, we barely even know how to perform _Wingardium Leviosa_ . There’s _no way_ you’ll be able to summon lightning bolts.”

“Fine. How about _Tentaclifors_? That one would transfigure his head into a giant tentacle.”

“Last time I checked, you weren’t even able to transfigure a matchstick into a needle. What makes you think you could pull off _Tentaclifors_?”

“I don’t know, George, just find me something! I can’t lose this duel.”

George sighed, closing the book. “I still don’t understand why you challenged him to a duel. You don’t even _know_ how to duel.”

“He called me a _coward_ , George. I’m no coward.”

George looked into Dream’s eyes and saw the steely determination reflected in them. As stupid and unnecessary as George thought the duel was, he knew that nothing would stand in Dream’s way now that his honor was on the line.

“Alright, Dream,” George said, thinking. “I think the two spells you need are _Expelliarmus_ and _Flipendo_. They’re in our first-year curriculum, so they should be manageable. First, you disarm him, then you use the knockback jinx.”

“Sounds kinda lame.”

“No, it sounds _doable._ You want to win the duel, right?”

“Yes _,_ ” Dream said seriously. 

“Then you need a strategy that is simple, yet effective. Even though he’s still a first-year, Techno is _scarily_ good at DADA. He spends almost every evening poring over _The Art of Defense_ in the common room. There’s a good chance that he’ll hit you with a jinx before you can even utter a single spell.”

Dream nodded, quickly following George’s line of reasoning. “I have to disarm him before he can do anything to me.”

“Exactly. Without his wand, he’ll be useless.”

Resolve burned in Dream’s eyes like fire, and George shivered at the sight. 

When Dream put his mind to something, he was unstoppable. 

“Let’s go to the courtyard,” the blond declared, standing up. “Bring the textbook. I’m going to disarm you so many times your head'll spin.”

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

_“Expelliarmus!”_ Dream shouted for the umpteenth time, pointing his wand at George. To Dream’s utter frustration, George’s own wand remained in his hand. Only a handful of faint red sparks appeared in the air, the only evidence that Dream had even attempted to cast a spell. 

“Well, at least you made light, this time,” George said optimistically. Dream just groaned and got into position to try again. 

“Why are you muffins trying to disarm each other?” a voice sounded from behind them.

The boys turned around and met the curious gaze of a boy with flat brown hair and crooked glasses. Dream tensed, straightening his back.

“What did you just call us?” the taller boy asked defensively. 

“Muffins. You know, like the baked goods.”

“Is that an insult?”

“No!”

Dream looked like he didn’t quite know what to make of the boy. He crossed his arms across his chest. 

“To answer your question, I have a duel tomorrow, so I’m practicing for it.”

The boy — either Hufflepuff or Slytherin, George couldn’t quite tell what color his scarf was — gasped. “A _duel_? But you two are first-years! Why would you be dueling?”

“None of your business,” Dream huffed. “Who are you, anyway?”

The older boy didn’t seem to be put off by Dream’s snappy tone; on the contrary, he smiled at the opportunity to introduce himself. “My name’s Baddeus Halo, but most people call me Bad. I’m in my second year.”

“Bad’s an ironic name for a Hufflepuff,” Dream said.

 _So the scarf is yellow, then_ , George noted to himself.

Bad laughed at the comment. “I know! I get that all the time. I could help you muffins if you want. Professor Chang taught us disarming last year, and I was pretty good at it.”

Dream shook his head, looking annoyed. “No thanks. I think we got it.”

George rolled his eyes at Dream’s stubbornness. “Actually,” he butted in, looking at Bad as he spoke, “I think we _could_ use some help.”

Dream glared at George, looking betrayed, but George ignored him.

“I’d love to help you guys!” Bad grinned, pulling out his wand. “I’ve been watching you trying to cast the spell for the past five minutes, and I think your wand movement needs work. Here, let me show you…”

Bad aimed his wand at George before taking a deep breath and uttering the incantation. “ _Expelliarmus_!” he exclaimed, rotating his wrist fluidly as he did so. A bright red light appeared from the tip of the Hufflepuff’s wand, hitting George squarely in the chest. George felt a wave of energy seize his hand as his wand was flung across the courtyard.

Dream’s eyes went wide. Bad looked immensely pleased with himself. 

“Okay. _How_ did you do that?” Dream demanded.

“I told you. It’s all in the wand movement. Your wrist rotation is too stiff.”

“He’s right,” George said, eyes calculating. “Our textbook said you have to channel your magic from your chest to your wand via the arm. The way you bend your wrist cuts off the flow of energy before it can be released.”

Dream scrunched his nose, thinking. “So I have to loosen my wrist. Okay. Lemme try again.”

This time when Dream cast the spell, a few red sparks actually flew far enough to hit George. The shorter boy’s wand wobbled in his hand, but ultimately stayed put.

“You’re getting it!” Bad cheered.

“Again,” Dream demanded, expression focused on the task at hand.

It took several more attempts, but eventually Dream was able to send a beam of red light straight at George, who gaped when his wand clattered to the floor.

Bad looked thrilled. “You’re a _really_ smart muffin, aren’t you? That took me forever to learn, but it only took you a few hours!”

Dream smiled at the praise from the older Hufflepuff. 

“Thanks, Bad. You helped a lot.”

“You’re welcome! I love helping friends learn new spells.”

George smiled at the older boy’s use of the word _friend_ so soon after meeting the two first-years. Dream looked similarly amused. 

“What else do you need to learn? Not anything violent, I hope,” Bad asked nervously.

“The Knockback Jinx. We haven’t studied it in Charms class, yet, so it would be pretty cool if you could help us out, actually,” Dream smoothly replied.

“Oh, I can help you with that one! But you have to promise that you won’t try to hurt anyone with it.”

“…I need to know it for a duel, though.”

“Yeah, but it’s not, like, a _serious_ duel. Right?”

Dream and George exchanged a glance.

“…sure.”

“Okay, then! When you cast _Flipendo_ , it’s all about getting the perfect checkmark motion with your wand. Imagine you’re ticking something off your to-do list…”

Bad spent the next hour coaching Dream on how to cast the Knockback Jinx. It took many failed attempts and several misfires, but Dream was eventually able to send his best friend falling backwards into a stone wall three consecutive times. 

“Awesome!” the tall boy cried. “Okay, George, let’s try again.” 

George stood up, wincing in pain. “I think you’ve practiced enough, Dream. I’m going to be covered in bruises tomorrow.”

“Oops.” Dream had the decency to look apologetic. “Sorry about that.”

“You’re a natural, Dream,” Bad praised the Slytherin, a hint of pride in his voice. George thought it was sweet how quickly Bad had accepted the first-years as his friends. The Hufflepuff was genuinely _kind_. 

Dream thanked Bad earnestly for his help, then gasped when he glanced down at his watch and saw the time. 

“Dinner’s almost over in the Great Hall! We better hurry if we don’t want to go to bed hungry,” the blond told George. The three boys quickly left the courtyard and began speed-walking to dinner. 

“It was nice meeting you muffins,” Bad said in a friendly voice as he began walking towards the Hufflepuff table. “Stop by Hufflepuff anytime! I always have time for my friends!”

The first-years waved goodbye as the older boy walked off. 

“He’s really nice,” Dream commented. George nodded in agreement.

“Are you sitting with us tonight?” the shorter boy asked his friend hopefully. He was disappointed but not surprised when Dream shook his head. 

“I’ll eat with Schlatt. It’d be too awkward to sit with Ravenclaw. I don’t really want to see Techno right now.”

George understood. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he said as the boys went their separate ways.

George couldn’t stop eyeing Techno all evening, wondering what his fellow Ravenclaw would bring to the duel. Even though Dream was a promising wizard, George didn’t like the thought of his best friend going wand-to-wand against his roommate.

All he could do was hope that neither of them got hurt. 

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

“Are you coming with me tonight?” Dream asked George after their shared Potions class the next day. The blond had been uncharacteristically jumpy all day in anticipation of his midnight duel.

“Of course,” George responded, bumping Dream’s shoulder with his own. “I wouldn’t let you go off and duel alone.”

“Thanks,” Dream said, sounding relieved. 

George grimaced, a thought occurring to him. “We’ll lose a lot of House Points if we get caught out past curfew, though. Detention too, probably.”

Dream waved his hand dismissively. “Slytherin can get negative House Points for all I care. And as for detention, we’ll be sneaky.”

George rolled his eyes at his friend’s confidence. “I’ll ask Philza about silencing charms when I get back to the common room. I’ll tell him I’m tired of Eret’s snoring.”

The boys turned a corner, then, and nearly bumped into Minx. 

“Watch it, Davidson,” she spat, side-stepping George with a glare. Once the girl was out of earshot, George turned to Dream.

“What’s her problem with me?” the shorter boy asked. 

“She’s like that with everyone,” Dream replied. “I wouldn’t take it personally. Anyway, meet me outside the Slytherin common room a few minutes before midnight. Schlatt told me about a secret staircase you can take just off the entrance to Ravenclaw tower so you won’t get caught.”

“Alright. See you later, Dream.”

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

George was careful not to make much noise as he tiptoed downstairs from his dormitory. Luckily, there were no prefects awake in the common room to see him sneak out. He followed Dream’s instructions, silently making his way down the spiral staircase and out of Ravenclaw Tower. He found the secret staircase without much trouble — it was behind a painting that, upon closer inspection, wasn’t a painting at all. George outstretched his hand, expecting his fingertips to meet canvas, but gasped when his arm passed right through the wall.

Hogwarts was _brilliant._

He was about to step through the invisible entrance when a voice made his heart stop.

“Where are you going, child?” 

George nearly screamed when he turned around to see the transparent face of his House ghost looking at him curiously.

“Out,” he whispered in reply, hoping that the Gray Lady wasn’t about to tell Filch about his late-night outing. To George’s relief, the ghost merely smiled at him fondly.

“You first-years are always going on adventures late at night. Don’t stay out too late, young man. I’ll try to warn you if I see anyone coming.”

“Thanks, Gray Lady.”

“Call me Helena,” she said before vanishing into thin air.

Ghostly encounter out of the way, George made his way down the secret staircase until he was finally in the dungeons. He peered his head out of another fake painting and glanced up and down the hallway, making sure the coast was clear before stepping outside and walking towards the Slytherin common room. Luckily, Dream was already there, waiting for his friend in the shadows behind a large potted plant. 

“ _Dream,_ ” George whispered into the darkness.

Dream turned to face the shorter boy, smiling when they made eye contact. The blond hurriedly jogged over to his friend, whispering a greeting once he was close enough. 

“Ready for your duel?” George asked.

“Ready enough.”

Luckily, they made their way to the courtyard without bumping into any on-duty prefects. The boys hid in the shadows as they waited for Techno to arrive. 

Five minutes passed in silence. George glanced down at his watch. 

_Three minutes to midnight._

Dream began to twirl his wand absentmindedly in his hands, expression deep in thought. George could see his friend mouthing incantations as if going over the spells in his head.

_One minute to midnight._

George watched the seconds tick by with bated breath. 

Midnight.

The shorter boy looked up, expecting to see Techno and maybe Wilbur walking up to the designated meeting place, but there was a sign of movement in the courtyard.

“Give ‘em a few minutes,” Dream muttered, seeing the way George’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

Five more minutes passed. No sign of Technoblade. 

Dream looked annoyed.

“What the heck,” he whispered, sounding irked. “We said midnight. Is your watch fast or something?”

“No,” George murmured in reply, growing more confused with every passing second. 

Ten minutes soon passed without any sign of Dream’s opponent. 

“He calls _me_ a coward, then doesn’t even have the decency to show up. What a loser,” the blond muttered angrily.

“Maybe a prefect caught him. Or Filch,” George reasoned. Dream just grumbled in response.

“Well if there isn’t going to be a duel, we might as well get back to our common rooms. I have classes in the morning.”

The boys shuffled along the walls of the courtyard until they made it to the side entrance of the castle. George was secretly relieved that Technoblade hadn’t shown up. Even though he _knew_ Dream was a capable young wizard, he didn’t like the idea of his best friend participating in a duel with only two spells at his disposal. 

The friends parted ways at the secret staircase. The Gray Lady helpfully appeared to inform George that Filch was patrolling the hallway near Ravenclaw Tower, so the first-year took a slightly different route back to his common room. By the time he made it up the five flights of stairs to the common room entrance, he was exhausted.

 _“How do you know you are not dreaming right now?”_ the knocker asked.

 _Because I’m bloody tired and my side hurts from where Dream knocked me on my arse too many times last night,_ George’s brain supplied.

“Your question assumes that there _is_ a way to know, but there isn’t. I can’t prove that I am awake, just like I can’t prove that anything in this life is more than a figment of my imagination,” he said instead.

George didn’t even glance at his roommates’ beds when he finally made it up to their shared room. He only paused to brush his teeth and change his clothes. By the time he made it to his bed, he was so tired that he passed out the second his head hit the pillow. 

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

When George woke up the next morning, his dormitory was deserted. 

At first, the brunet thought he’d overslept. Panicking, he rolled over and checked his watch only to discover that it wasn’t even seven in the morning. 

That was strange. Eret didn’t usually wake up until a quarter before eight. 

George felt a sense of foreboding as he donned his school robes. It was quiet in the common room when the shorter boy descended the staircase that led up to the boys’ turrets; not even Philza, who could usually be found studying near the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw in the mornings, was present. Only a single older girl was in the back of the common room, sound asleep on top of her textbooks, presumably having stayed up all night studying. 

Something was definitely off.

George hurried down to the Great Hall, thinking that perhaps his roommates had all woken up early for breakfast. Alas, a cursory glance at the Ravenclaw table did not reveal a single fellow Ravenclaw first-year.

Unsettled, George walked over to the Slytherin table hesitantly. To his relief, he spotted Dream sitting across from Schlatt at the far end. Minx shot him a glare as he passed by, muttering something under her breath. 

“Hey, George,” Dream said, surprised to see his friend approaching their table. “What’s up?”

“Tired of sitting with the Ravenclaw know-it-alls?” Schlatt joked.

George worried his bottom lip between his teeth and took a seat next to his best friend. Dream, sensing something was wrong, shot George a concerned look.

“You alright, George? What’s wrong?” he asked the shorter boy.

George sighed before answering. “When I woke up this morning, Eret, Wilbur, and Techno were all gone. They’re not at breakfast, either.”

Schlatt shrugged. “Why are you worrying about it? Maybe they decided to have an early-morning study sesh. You blue people are weird like that.”

George shook his head, thinking. “No, Eret never wakes up before me.”

Dream glanced over at the Ravenclaw table. “Well, if they’re not at breakfast, Schlatt’s probably right. I wouldn’t overthink it, Gogi.”

Schlatt snorted, causing pumpkin juice to come out of his nose. “Did you just call him _Gogi_?”

George buried his head in his hands to hide his blush. “ _Dream._ ”

Dream chuckled at his best friend’s embarrassment. “It’s alright, George. We have History of Magic in ten minutes, so we can walk to class together. I’m sure your fellow nerds will be there.”

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

George’s fellow nerds were not, in fact, there.

George could barely concentrate on Professor Binns’ lecture on the Werewolf Code of Conduct because he was so preoccupied with his anxious thoughts. Thinking about it, he couldn’t recall seeing any of his roommates in their room the night before. He had been so exhausted after his midnight escapade that he hadn’t even bothered to check on the other boys. 

He had a sneaking suspicion that his classmates’ absence had something to do with Techno’s failure to show up to the duel.

Dream didn’t seem concerned. George’s best friend was doodling stick figures in the margins of his notes, not even pretending to pay attention to their professor. 

_Let’s stop by the library before DADA_ , George scrawled on a scrap of parchment before passing the note to Dream. Dream read it quickly, face unmoving as he wrote a reply.

 _Ok Gogi,_ the note said in Dream’s messy scrawl.

George rolled his eyes and drew an angry face on one of the stickmen. Dream smiled and replaced the doodle’s eyes with hearts. 

Five minutes before the end of class, two boys in robes lined with blue entered the classroom. George’s eyes widened.

“Sorry, Professor Binns,” Wilbur muttered, placing a late pass on the professor’s desk.

“That’s alright, Mr. Wilson and Mr. Eric. Take your seats,” the ghostly man replied, completely butchering the first-years’ names.

Wilbur and Eret sat down. George noted that Techno was not with them.

George ran up to his roommates as soon as class was over. His Housemates both had dark circles under their eyes, which only made George more worried. 

“Wilbur! Eret! What happened to you? I woke up this morning and you were _gone_ and I thought maybe—”

“ _George._ Not here, please,” Wilbur interrupted, glancing around the room at their classmates. “We have a free period now, yeah? Let’s go to the library.” 

George nodded, eyes wide. The four first-years exited the History of Magic classroom and ascended one of the smaller marble staircases up to the third floor. Once in the library, they headed straight for the table in the very far corner of the room.

“Okay. What’s going on?” George demanded once the boys were all seated. Even Dream looked concerned despite how dismissive the blond had been of George’s worries earlier.

“Right. You know how Techno never showed up last night?” Eret asked, looking at Dream intently. “Well, that’s because he was attacked on his way to the courtyard.”

George gasped, hands flying to his mouth. “Attacked? What do you mean, _attacked_?”

Wilbur grimaced and began to explain. “After you left to meet up with Dream, Eret and I offered to escort him to his duel. But Techno, being the stubborn git that he is, told us he didn’t want us coming along. So he left. But then _this_ son of a bludger—” Wilbur paused to point at Eret “—decided he just _had_ to follow, which meant that _I_ then had to follow to make sure he didn’t get lost. So then—”

“Where does the attack part come in?” Dream butted in impatiently. 

“Just _listen_ . The Gray Lady told us that Techno had taken a back staircase, so Eret and I naturally did the same thing. Eret ran down the stairs like a _madman_ , but stopped short at the bottom and made a face like he’d just seen a Dementor. So then _I_ looked down and saw Techno passed out cold on the floor in a puddle of blood, a cloaked figure hunched over him all creepy-like.”

“A puddle of _blood_?” George asked, horrified. 

“Who was the figure?” Dream demanded, eyes focused intently on Wilbur.

“That’s the thing,” Eret said. “The attacker noticed us standing there and hit us both with some sort of stunning spell before we could tell who it was. Everything went black after that, and next thing I know I’m waking up next to Wilbur in the Hospital Wing.”

“That’s…actually insane,” Dream said.

“Is Techno okay? You said he was _bleeding_ ,” George asked, scared for his roommate.

“Madame Abbott said there was a nasty slash on his arm, but she healed that up right quick,” Wilbur stated. “The bigger problem is the fact that he’s still unconscious.”

“If he was stunned, though, he should be awake by now,” Dream muttered, brows furrowed in thought.

“McGonagall told us to keep quiet about the incident until they sort everything out, but come _on._ It’s Techno. Of _course_ we had to tell you two,” Wilbur said.

“Plus, Techno wouldn’t want you thinking he backed out of the duel on purpose,” Eret added. 

Dream ran a hand through his hair. “I guess you _were_ right about that, George. I should have known Techno wouldn’t have ditched like that. He might be a jerk, but he’s not a liar,” the blond said with a sigh. 

“Of course I was right. Ravenclaw, remember?” George said, tapping his head and earning himself an elbow to the ribs from his best friend. “In all seriousness, though, d’you think it was a student, Wilbur? I can’t imagine anyone at Hogwarts wanting to hurt Techno.”

“No clue, honestly. DADA starts soon, so we should get going. Mum’s the word, yeah?” Wilbur asked, gaze flicking from Dream to George seriously.

“Of course,” George promised.

“Yeah,” Dream nodded, “swear on my wand.”

For once, George was one of the students struggling to pay attention in class for the rest of the day. All of his thoughts kept returning to Techno, unconscious in the Hospital Wing. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to attack the boy. His roommate was generally well-respected among the other first-years and was an excellent student. 

One thing scared George immensely: the victim could have easily been him. Had he left the common room mere moments later than he had, it might have been _him_ lying in a pool of his own blood. The thought was terrifying. 

“You know,” Dream said to him after their Potions class, “this thing with Techno sounds kind of…off.”

“Off how?” George asked curiously. 

“I don’t know,” Dream answered, “it’s just so random. My dad used to tell me stories about how messed up things were at Hogwarts during the war. There were all sorts of dark wizards infiltrating the castle all the time and crazy death-snakes coming out of secret chambers. Kids used to just drop _dead_ in the halls, George, but that stuff is supposed to be over now.”

“Do you think this attack has anything to do with the war?” George questioned. As a Muggle-born, he wasn’t well-versed in all of the specific details of the wizarding conflicts. Professor Binns had briefly discussed the First and Second Wizarding Wars in their History of Magic class, but George hadn’t grown up with the knowledge like Dream had. 

Dream frowned and pursed his lips. “I hope not. If this _was_ some sort of political thing, it was a pretty stupid one. Going after some random first-year’s kinda dumb. Plus,” Dream added in a quieter tone, “I definitely don’t need even _more_ people thinking that _Clay Selwyn the Slytherin pureblood kid_ is a crazy racist Death Eater.”

“Don’t even start, Dream,” George chided gently. He didn’t need Dream getting himself into one of his grumpy moods again when everyone was already on edge.

“Okay, Gogi. Gotta drop my books off. See you at dinner?”

“Sure.”

With that, the boys parted ways, Dream heading down to the dungeons and George climbing up the staircase that led to Ravenclaw Tower. 

It was strange, saying goodnight to two boys instead of three that night. As George drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t stop replaying what Wilbur had told them in the library. 

Though he wanted to believe Techno’s attack was a one-off occurrence, George couldn’t shake the feeling that this incident was the beginning of something much bigger. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did y'all think? I am going to be picking up the pace soon cuz the first year is kind of boring and I want to write more advanced magic. As always, comments are much appreciated! I love your awesome ideas. Next update will probably come out by the end of this weekend!


	5. Chapter Five || Year One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! If this chapter seems a million times better than the other ones, that is because Gra55 is a fantastic editor and SUPER super amazing at characterization! Go check out their work!
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE: In light of the latest MCC, Karl is now a Hufflepuff. I have edited the previous chapters to reflect this. It is a very minor change.

_An unfortunate incident,_ Headmistress McGonagall had called it at the Halloween Feast. 

After an entire week had passed since Techno’s attack, the Hogwarts staff _finally_ decided to address the first-year’s prolonged absence from his classes. Almost everyone in their year had been wondering where the Ravenclaw had gone, but, true to their words, George and Dream had told no one of the assault on their classmate. 

McGonagall’s voice had been stern when she addressed the Hogwarts student body before dinner. “Last week an unfortunate incident left one of our first-year students in the Hospital Wing. The student is recovering under the care of our matron, Madame Abbott, who determined that he was hit with an unidentified splash potion. On behalf of all Hogwarts staff, I would like to remind you all that bullying is childish behavior that will _not_ be tolerated at this school under any circumstances and will be met with _severe_ punishment.”

“ _Bullying_ ?” Wilbur whispered. “ _That’s_ what they’re going with?”

“Please be informed that curfew is in place for a reason. This incident is not a cause for panic. Do not let any circulating misinformation distract you from your approaching end-of-term examinations.”

With those final words ringing in their ears, the students in the Great Hall began eating. The festive Halloween atmosphere combined with the wide array of seasonal delicacies quickly distracted most of the student body. Soon, only a few students could be heard gossiping about McGonagall’s announcement.

“D’you reckon they’re right about the splash potion?” Eret asked Wilbur.

“I dunno. Slughorn hasn’t taught us anything about splash potions yet.”

George nodded, glancing up as he felt a nudge on his shoulder.

"Scoot over," Dream demanded, motioning for the shorter boy to make room for him at their table, “and what’s all this about Slughorn?” he asked, snagging a baked potato from a nearby serving dish before plopping down into his newfound seat and shoving the entire thing in his mouth. 

Wilbur wrinkled his nose at the Slytherin’s table manners, “We’re talking about splash potions. I said Slughorn hasn’t even covered them in class yet.”

Dream chewed his food thoughtfully and nodded, “I can’t believe they're calling it _bullying_ . As if anyone would want to bully Techno.” he rolled his eyes , swallowing, " There's no _way_ anyone's gonna believe that."

“The word 'bullying' is ridiculous." George snorted, "This was more like…attempted murder!”

“That's what _I_ was thinking! It must’ve been one powerful splash potion for Techno to still be out cold,” Wilbur mused, "Definitely too big to just be bullying."

"So the two options are either bullying or murder?" Eret asked through a mouthful of pumpkin pasty.

Dream shrugged, "That's Hogwarts."

George quirked his eyebrows at the strange comment before his eyes suddenly widened in realization, “Oh no. The term’s nearly over and Techno’s going to be so behind on exam preparation!”

Dream paused mid chew and looked at George in disbelief. “ _Really_? _That’s_ what you’re worried about?! Gosh, you really _are_ a nerd.”

“Just because I think it’s good to be prepared for exams?”

“No, ‘cuz your roommate is still _knocked out_ and you’re worried about him failing some stupid tests!”

George crossed his arms defensively. “Hey, exams are stressful! I think if I study for at _least_ an hour a day, I should be prepared by December…”

“Oh come on, George.” Dream scoffed, “Exams are more than a month away. Plus,” he added, with a twinkle in his eye, “there’s no _way_ I’m letting you study tomorrow.”

“Why not?” George asked, puzzled.

“Because I’m not going to let you spend your birthday _studying,_ ” Dream teased, elbowing his friend in the ribs.

At Dream’s words, Eret and Wilbur both turned sharply to look at George, who could feel his face heating up as he rubbed his side painfully. He shot an irritated glare at Dream, who pretended to be focused on the meat pie in his hand.

“ _Birthday_?! George, why didn’t you say anything?!” Eret asked incredulously.

“Yeah, mate, you could have told us,” Wilbur added.

“I-I dunno!” He stammered, “Honestly, I kinda forgot. There’s just been a lot going on lately, and with Techno in the Hospital Wing…I don’t really need the attention,” he admitted, averting his gaze.

Wilbur’s expression softened and he let out a small chuckle, reaching over the table to clap him on the shoulder. “Come on now, George. I’m sure Techno wouldn’t mind us celebrating your _birthday_. Sure, he likes attention, but only when he’s doing _cool_ stuff. Being unconscious is not considered ‘cool’ in his books.”

“Yeah, he’d probably want you to have an _extra_ big party to distract from the fact that he’s out cold.” Eret added.

“I mean, _maybe_.” George shrugged, “There isn’t much to celebrate anyways though, I don’t expect presents or anything. I mean, I recently found out I can do _real magic_! I think that counts as enough birthday presents until I _graduate._ Just being at Hogwarts is the best present I could ever ask for.”

“Awww, Georgie!” Dream teased. “Are _we_ your birthday presents?”

George rolled his eyes and buried his head in his hands. “Never mind,” he grumbled. “I hate you all. I expect special presents from _everyone_.”

“We love you too, Gogi!”

“ _Dream!_ Don’t call me that!”

#### ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the morning of his twelfth birthday, George just managed to escape the ‘Happy Birthday!’s his roommates threw at him. Tiptoeing out of their shared bedroom before any of them could make a huge fuss over him. He shut the door to the boys dorms quietly behind him and let out a sigh of relief.

“Happy Birthday George!”

“Wah—! Dream?!” George exclaimed, nearly jumping a mile high as the birthday greeting was called. He whirled around to face the Slytherin, who had a flimsy birthday hat clinging onto his head through sheer willpower, and maybe some sort of hat gluing spell.

“Surprise!” Dream grinned, holding out a blue frosted cupcake with an unlit yellow candle poking out the top. 

“How did you even get in?” George asked incredulously, ignoring the pastry, “You didn’t _actually_ answer the riddle, right?”

“Duh, of course I did,” Dream scoffed, placing the cupcake on a nearby table, “It’s not like it’s hard or anything.”

“Yeah, he may have gotten some help too, but that’s fine,” Philza called out from an armchair in the corner, not bothering to glance up from the book he was reading.

“Or I _may_ have done it all by myself.”

“You definitely did that thirty minutes of screaming at the doorknob all by yourself,” Philza snickered, turning a page. 

Dream glared at the prefect, sticking his tongue out before untucking a cardboard box from underneath his arm and holding it out to George. 

“I didn’t have time to wrap it or anything, so that’s why it looks bad,” Dream explained, “but the stuff inside still looks great!” 

George grinned and shuffled over, lifting the lid up excitedly. Inside the box were two books: a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ and another book titled _Sites of Historical Sorcery_.

“ _I_ think they’re kinda lame, but you mentioned you wanted to know more about wizard history ‘n stuff so..... I hope you like ‘em.”

George smiled and tucked the box safely under his arm. “I love it, Dream. Thank you,” he said honestly. 

Dream let out a sigh of relief, “Good, I should’ve known you were a huge nerd and would’ve been happy with these dumb books, but just in case I had Bad teach me something after dinner last night.”

“What is it?” George asked as Dream pulled his wand out from the sleeve of his robe.

“You’ll see, watch this,” he said excitedly, turning towards the cupcake on the table.

“Try not to blow up my common room, yeah?” Philza piped up, still fully immersed in his book.

“I _won’t_ !” Dream cried, “I’m a _professional_ , okay?”

“Sure.”

Dream pursed his lips in irritation before refocusing his attention on the yellow candle. He rolled his wrist in small circles a couple of times and rehearsed the incantation under his breath, “Alright, I’m ready, are you ready?”

George nodded, staring intently at the wick.

 _“Incendio_!” the blond declared, flicking his wrist ever so slightly. A few yellow sparks shot out, but the candle remained unlit.

“ _Ugh_. I thought I had it for sure!”

“ _Incendio_!” Phil called from the other side of the common room, instantly lighting the candle without ever looking up from the book.

“Dude! I was gonna try again! You’re such a show off,” Dream groaned.

“Whoops, at least the common room’s safe now. You looked like you were gonna set the table on fire.”

“You weren’t even looking,” Dream mumbled under his breath, “Whatever. Make a wish, George!”

George laughed and closed his eyes. _Please let Techno get well soon,_ he thought before blowing out the candle. 

#### ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Techno woke up two weeks after George’s birthday.

George, Wilbur, and Eret had been proofreading each others’ Transfiguration assignments in the Ravenclaw common room one evening after dinner. Professor Winger had given them only a week to write two rolls of parchment on the practical applications of the transfiguration formula, and everyone (except Dream, who’d called George a nerd when he’d invited the blond to their group study session) was struggling to finish in time. 

That was why no one noticed their fourth roommate casually walking up to their table until he loudly cleared his throat.

The three boys looked up and froze in shock. 

Techno looked pale and disheveled and smugger than ever, grinning at his friends’ astonished expressions. "How’s it goin’?” 

The greeting snapped the boys out of their trances. 

“Techno!” They all exclaimed in unison, jumping up to embrace their friend. 

“You’re alive!”

“Are you alright?”

“Welcome back!”

"Alright, I'm tappin' out guys," Techno coughed out, slapping at the smothering trio's grip before he passed out again, "Are you tryna put me back in the infirmary?" 

The three jumped back instantly and Techno collapsed to the ground, holding his hand up to stop them before they could offer their support.

"Please, you've already done…so much." He winced, clambering back to his feet and plopping down into one of their empty chairs.

"First day back and you're already taking my stuff, huh?" Wilbur crossed his arms and rolled his eyes dramatically, "Incredibly rude."

"What, were you just gonna let me stand there? What a gentleman. This must be that British hospitality everyone's always talkin' about. Was the attempt on my life part of protocol or was that just like a fun little bonus?"

"That… was a bit off script." Wilbur muttered, chewing his bottom lip nervously, "But while we're already on the subject, what exactly _did_ happen to you?" 

“Yeah, who attacked you?” George piped in.

“Did you manage to fight back?” Eret asked.

"Oh! Were they a first-year?"

"What'd they hit you with?"

"How did they even manage to get you?"

"Was it just the one person Wilbur and I saw over you or were there more before?" 

"Gentlemen, please, one at a time." Wilbur cut in, waving his hands up and down to silence them.

"Oh, oops. Sorry." Eret apologized as George nodded in agreement.

"S'fine, I just woke up, like, this morning." Techno sighed, running his a hand through his thin brown hair, "Not that I wasn't expectin’ all this questionin’, but McGonagall already interrogated me and the truth is I really don't remember much.”

"That's alright, chap, we're just glad you're okay." Wilbur grinned, placing a hand on his shoulder, George and Eret nodding along.

“We were all really worried,” George added, twisting his fingers through the hem of his robes nervously, “You were in the Hospital Wing for such a long time, it was starting to look pretty bad.”

"Psh, not even close," Techno waved him off with a smirk, "It would take a lot more than _that_ to get rid of me."

The comment was so _Techno_ that George couldn't help but laugh. 

“So what exactly _was_ 'that'?” Wilbur asked, putting the word in quotes, "Not to be another McGonagall but I'm sure you remember _something,_ so…"

“Yeah, I get it, you wanna know all those juicy details.” Techno huffed, “The gist of it is that I was on my way to beat Selwyn in the courtyard when I heard footsteps. Thought Eret was followin’ me, so I turned around to give him a piece of my mind when someone in dark robes threw a splash potion at my feet. I was out like a light after that.”

Wilbur let out a satisfied hum, "Yeah, I figured as much. McGonagall told us about the whole splash potion thing but I wasn’t sure if it was true."

“Wilbur and I were lucky that the attacker only stunned us,” Eret added with a shiver, “we haven't even started learning the first thing about splash potions! Whoever it was could've _definitely_ dealt more damage.”

Techno nodded, his eyes drifting to look out the window. “That's not even the worst of it, it took them _seven doses_ of Wiggenweld potion to finally get me up,” he informed the boys. “Madame Abbott said that she couldn’t be certain, but Professor Slughorn thinks I was hit with a modified Draught of Living Death.”

Wilbur gasped, clamping a hand over his mouth as Eret stared at Techno in shock.

"You can't be serious." Wilbur insisted.

“What’s a Draught of Living Death?” George asked hesitantly.

“Oh, it’s only the most _powerful sleeping potion in existence_ !" Eret exclaimed, throwing his hands up, "Why anyone who's powerful enough to make it would waste a potion like that on Techno is _beyond_ me.”

"Well that's _rude_." Techno scoffed, propping his legs up on the table, "Obviously it's cuz they didn't stand a chance against me."

#### ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the term passed quickly after Techno woke up. 

Things more or less returned to normal at Hogwarts. Techno had informed his roommates that his attack was still under “investigation” so the boys didn’t discuss the incident in the open. The only exception to the rule was Dream, whom George had instantly filled in on the events the day they were told to him.

“You can’t tell anyone about this though, okay?” George stressed, “I’m not even sure if I’m supposed to share this with _you_.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul,” Dream nodded solemnly, holding his hand up in a vow.

“Good.”

As the days went by, the conflict between Dream and Techno hadn’t gone down by so much as a hair’s breadth. The two were cold towards each other whenever they were in the same room, hardly looking at each other save for the odd glare. George wished that his two friends would make up already, but neither boy seemed interested in mentioning the ill-fated duel, so he didn’t press the matter.

End-of-term assessments took place during the second week of December, and in the days leading up to it the library had practically become a second home to George. Each meal was a battle between Dream and George’s grip on his textbook, not that the Slytherin had much room to talk. 

From the way that he had begun studying, you’d think the boy had turned into a Ravenclaw overnight, memorizing dates and spells off of homemade flashcards, and staying late after classes to ask his teachers extra questions. Of course, he’d never let any of his friends find out about his new study habits or he was sure he’d die of shame.

Oh, and if George thought that the days leading _up_ to the exam were terrible, then exam week _itself_ was akin to literal hell. Not a single soul got more than three total hours of sleep each night, so everyone was more irritable than usual. If you had the misfortune of bumping into someone in the hallways, chances were you were gonna get thrown off the nearest moving staircase and into the abyss. 

Nevertheless, by the end of it all George was certain that he had aced Charms, Transfiguration, Astronomy, and DADA. His flying exam had gone alright up until he’d fallen off his broom at the very end, but he hoped he wouldn’t lose too many points for the mishap. The Potions and Herbology exams on the other hand…well, George wasn’t planning on becoming a potioneer anyways, and plants just sucked in general, so he supposed it didn’t really matter either way. 

The final exam was their History of Magic assessment. George was confident he did fairly well despite the fact that he’d forgotten what year Emeric the Evil was killed. As soon as Professor Binns had collected their papers, George was jumping out of his chair and rushing over to Dream’s desk.

“We did it, Dream! It’s finally the end of term!” He cried joyfully. Dream smiled at his best friend’s happiness, but the smile looked forced.

“Hooray,” He whooped dryly, “I get to go home for Christmas and spend time with my family. Awesome.”

George’s gaze softened and his shoulders sagged at his friend’s words. “C’mon, I’m sure it won’t be so bad. It’ll be nice to see your mum and Drista again, right?”

“Yeah, I guess” he huffed, glancing guiltily at the floor.

“Plus, I’m right next door! You can always come over to my house!”

Dream brightened at that, then seemed to realize something and facepalmed. “Wait, the train takes us to London tomorrow, right?”

“Erm, yeah? That’s how the end of the term works.” George replied, raising an eyebrow in his friend’s direction.

“So I should probably start packing then, right?”

“Wh—? _Start_ packing?!” George spluttered, “The train leaves _tomorrow morning!_ ” 

“Oh, relax. I’ll get it done.” Dream shrugged, waving him off.

George shook his head in disbelief. “You really _are_ an idiot.”

“Maybe, but you still love me.”

#### ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seeing his parents again had been wonderful, but George was happy when the holidays were over and he got to return to the castle. He and Dream had barely even seen each other over the break despite being next door neighbors, and George was excited to finally be able to spend time with his best friend again. 

The shorter boy’s eyes stayed glued to the window throughout the entire train ride, eagerly waiting to catch a glimpse of his new favorite place in the world. When the faint outline of the castle was _finally_ visible, George squealed, earning him an amused look from Dream.

“I didn’t know Hogwarts installed an alarm system for when the train got close,” Dream chuckled, but even _he_ couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice. 

“Oh shut up, you should be thankful for my alarm services.”

Stepping onto the castle grounds felt rejuvenating. The very _air_ was rich with magical energy; George could feel the magic envelop him as he entered the castle. Sure, the mood was kind of killed once Peeves jump scared him on his way up to Ravenclaw Tower, but George couldn’t bring himself to be angry about it.

It was good to be home.

#### ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The remainder of George’s first year at Hogwarts flew by.

Without his friend being half dead on a hospital bed, the days just didn’t seem to drag on as long as they had during the first term. 

With Techno alive and well, the first-years fell back into their routines. George threw himself eagerly back into his studies, while spending the afternoons after his classes hanging out with Dream, exploring the castle and playing gobstones in the courtyard. His evenings were spent in the Ravenclaw common room, studying with his roommates and nodding sympathetically as Philza complained about how grueling O.W.L. preparations were. 

“I’m not one to turn my nose up at big projects, ya know, I like em all well enough,” he’d say. “But only when it’s something interestin, doin stuff I don’t like just doesn’t suit me. ‘S just annoyin that half the good jobs require ya to pass borin classes.”

During meals, George found himself spending more and more time at the Hufflepuff table than at his own. Bad was always happy to make room for anyone who wanted to join, the second-year had to be the most genuine person he’d ever met, and it was really exciting for him to get to know Karl. He hadn’t known that the Hufflepuff from his transfiguration classes was also a complete Muggle-born, so it was nice to not be the only one out of the loop anymore. 

“I can’t believe it’s already almost _May,_ ” Eret sighed one day during lunch in the Great Hall. “I feel like the term just _started_!”

“Wh—?! _May?!_ ” George cried, nearly choking on his food as his utensils clattered onto the plate, “You’re _joking_. There’s no way it’s almost May.”

“Be careful there,” Wilbur chuckled, slapping him on the back as he fell into a coughing fit, “Don’t get too excited, we’ll be having more exams soon.” 

“ _Noooo_ don’t remind me,” Eret groaned, banging his forehead against the table in defeat, “I was just getting excited for summer.” 

“Seriously, I hate studying,” Dream huffed, earning an eye roll from George.

“I _still_ can’t believe you got better marks than me on your last History of Magic assessment. You don’t even take _notes_ for that class!” George exclaimed.

“What can I say? I’m just really smart,” he said with a shrug.

“More like really lucky,” George grumbled, “all these teachers must _love_ you.”

#### ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Professor Chang hates me.”

George, Wilbur and Eret all looked up from their work in time to see Dream march towards them and dump his textbooks on their library table. With only two weeks until their end-of-year examinations, the boys practically _lived_ in the library. 

“Why do you say that, Dream?” George asked as he scooted over, a bit concerned by the way the blond immediately buried his head in his hands upon sitting down.

Dream laughed humorlessly in response. “Are you kidding? You’ve _seen_ the way she looks at me in class.”

“I haven’t noticed anything strange about the way she looks at you,” George answered, brows furrowing in thought. 

At this, Eret shot George a look. “Even _I_ can see that Selwyn’s right. She looks at him like he’s the scum of the earth.”

Dream tensed at the use of his surname, but didn’t comment on it, for once.

“Exactly,” Dream muttered. “And it _sucks_ because I actually like her class and I didn’t even _do_ anything to her. Just now I stayed behind to ask her a question about the exams, and she acted like I was _wasting_ her time. Answering my questions is her entire freaking job!”

“Maybe it’s because you didn’t turn in your werewolf essay on time?” George suggested, trying to be helpful. 

“Schlatt didn’t turn it in either, but I didn’t see Chang giving _him_ any death glares,” Dream huffed. 

Wilbur tapped his wand against his chin thoughtfully, “I mean, it probably has something to do with your family. Your uncle _did_ kidnap and torture tons of her friends during the war, you know.”

George shot his Housemate a warning look, but Wilbur ignored it, carrying on.

"You should tell her off about it, mate. I mean, I _get_ it, but it isn’t right. She's judging you based on something you weren't even involved in. It's not _your_ fault your family is evil—”

“Wilbur! Stop it!” George snapped, slamming his fists against the table as Dream stared at the floor in silence.

The curly haired boy winced, glanced between his roommate and the Slytherin with an apologetic look, "I— I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry."

After what felt like an eternity the blond finally huffed, “Whatever, I don’t need the help of any stupid professors, anyway.”

Dream stood up from the table, grabbing his textbooks before storming out.

“Dream, wait—!”

“It’s fine! I just wanna be left alone right now!”

With that, Dream disappeared behind the bookshelves, the sound of a door slamming echoed through the room a few moments later, announcing his departure. 

Wilbur opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it, clamping his jaw shut as his face contorted into a guilty expression. The table stayed silent after that, a pit of unease settling in George’s stomach.

#### ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week before his first exam, George was getting ready to get some early-morning studying done in the common room when he heard a group of girls in his year whispering to each other.

“Did you hear the news?” one of the girls asked her Housemates.

“What news?” 

“Some Hufflepuff kid was attacked last night on his way back from the Astronomy Tower! I overheard one of their prefects telling Philza about it when I came downstairs.”

George’s stomach dropped and the quill in his hand froze, a sick feeling of deja-vu clouding his thoughts. The girls kept gossiping.

“ _Attacked_?!”

“Yeah. Filch’s cat found him unconscious on the floor. Someone hit him with a stunning spell, apparently.”

A stunning spell. Eret’s words from months earlier rang out in George’s head. _Wilbur and I were lucky that the attacker only stunned us._

George didn’t bother staying to hear the rest of what the girls were saying. He quickly gathered his books and left Ravenclaw Tower, descending the spiral staircase two steps at a time. The faces in the portraits lining the halls stared at him as he passed by, their eyes following his hurried movements. His pace didn’t slow down until he was finally facing the door to the Hospital Wing. 

George gulped, his heart pounding from the race to the hospital tower. He reached out and gripped the door handle, muttering a silent prayer that nobody he knew would be there before throwing the doors open. 

His eyes scanned the empty beds lining the walls, a small gasp escaping his lips as they landed on a familiar figure in yellow-lined robes. 

“I’ll be with you in just a minute!” a voice — Madame Abbott, George presumed — called out from around a corner. 

George ignored her, taking a few tentative steps towards the first-year’s bed before noticing that the boy’s eyes were closed. He hesitated, not wanting to wake the sleeping Hufflepuff, but before he could turn back around and leave a pair of tired green eyes blinked open and met his own. 

“Uh, hi Karl,” George whispered nervously, not knowing what else to say.

Karl furrowed his brows, blinking in confusion as he slowly turned his head to assess his surroundings. 

“A-are you okay?” He asked gently, reaching his hand out to comfort the boy.

“Um, I _think_ so.” He replied, gradually sitting up, “I’m in the hospital wing though so maybe not.”

“That—”

“Oh wait! I remember now!” He exclaimed, “That hurt like crazy, you came to check on me, right?”

“Y-yeah, I overheard what happened last night and I wanted to make sure that you—”

“Excuse me, young man!” a stern voice interrupted from behind. George winced, turning around slowly to meet the disapproving face of Madame Abbott. “It’s a bit early for visitors, don’t you think? Mr. Jacobs has had a _very_ stressful night, it would be best if you hurried on to breakfast.”

“Yes, I-I was just...er, sorry,” George stammered, making to leave. 

“Wait, George! Don’t go! I’m alright,” Karl called out. 

“Mr. Jacobs, you are still recovering from that laceration. I do not think that—”

“ _Please?_ I feel _fine,_ ” Karl whined. 

Madame Abbott pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a sigh of exasperation. “If you start making any sort of noise I’ll have _both_ of you removed from this place, am I understood?”

“Yes ma’am.” Karl nodded, raising his arm in a salute before wincing as his injury made itself known.

She sighed one more time, giving them a final irritated glare before disappearing behind the corner once more. With their matron out of ear shot, George took a seat next to his classmate’s cot.

“So, what do you remember?” George asked intently as Karl rubbed at the newly-formed scar on his arm.

“Oh, it was crazy! Our class had just finished Astronomy, right? And so I stayed behind to ask Professor Sinistra if we would need to study _all_ forty-eight of Ptolemy’s constellations for the exam—”

“Oh! I needed to know that too! What’d she say?”

“She said we do,” Karl groaned, “I’m gonna need you to help me with that by the way— but that’s not important! I was on my way back to the common room when this flash of red light went flying over my shoulder!”

“A stunning spell?” George asked. 

“Exactly! Whoever cast it missed their first shot and I totally freaked out! I was like ‘What the honk?! Who did that!’ and then I spun around and there was _another_ flash of light right in front of my face! It was insane, my arm was bleeding all over the place and I couldn’t see anything, I thought I was dead for _sure_!” Karl said with a shudder.

“And then what happened?” George asked with wide eyes.

“Well obviously I was totally freaked! I screamed like my head fell off or something and turned to run away, but before I could even take five steps they hit me with another shot! I blacked out completely after that, and next thing I know I wake up here!” Karl cried, throwing his arms up as he gestured to the hospital wing before wincing at his injury. 

“That’s _insane_.” George murmured, the gears in his head turning as he processed all the new information. Karl’s story sounded eerily familiar, and the glaring similarities between his attack and Techno’s filled George with a creeping sense of dread. 

“Right? I was scared out of my mind! It’s a good thing someone found me.”

“It really is, I’m glad you’re alright Karl.”

“Same, it would really suck if I wasn’t, otherwise I would miss out on a ton of stuff here!”

George nodded, “Are you coming to the Great Hall for breakfast? Your Housemates are probably worried sick about you.”

As if on cue, the door to the infirmary flew open with a bang, a frazzled looking Bad leaping from the entrance and rushing over to Karl’s bedside.

“KARL, YOU MUFFIN!” he exclaimed, pushing George out of the way in his frenzy. “I waited up for you in the common room for _hours_ , but you never came back from Astronomy! Then Lucinda returned from her prefect patrol and told me you were in the _Hospital Wing!_ Are you okay? What happened?!” 

The commotion caused Madame Abbott to peek her head around the corner and silence them with an irritated _shhhhh._

“I’m sorry, but it totally wasn’t my fault!” Karl exclaimed. 

“Of course it wasn’t your fault you _muffinhead_! You got hurt from something!”

“Yeah! I was just telling George about it. Some crazy person slashed my arm open and then knocked me out in the hallway! Madame Abbott did a really good job healing it up, but it still hurts a little when I move my arm too fast.”

“Wait, George is here?” Bad asked, his head snapping in his direction. “Oh my goodness, I didn’t even notice you there! I’m glad someone else came to check up on Karl.”

“It’s fine, you were just really worried,” George replied, “I’m gonna head to breakfast, will I see you if I stop by the Hufflepuff table later?”

“Honk yeah you will! There’s no _way_ I’m staying in this bed all day,” Karl declared. “I’m _starving_.”

George chuckled and left the two Hufflepuffs to their devices, making a beeline for the Great Hall. There was something fishy about that attack, of that he was sure, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to AO3 statistics, only a small percentage of readers actually leave kudos. If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider leaving kudos and a comment. It's free!
> 
> I hope y'all liked the update! Things are heating up ^_^ Once again, thank you so much Gra55 for all your help. GO CHECK THEM OUT!


	6. Chapter Six || Year One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George's first year at Hogwarts comes to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! We're back with another chapter :D would've uploaded sooner but real life got in the way, unfortunately. I can't believe this story is currently up to 5000+ hits!!! I've never had that many people read anything of mine before, and all of your comments make me so happy :DDDD
> 
> Once again, a big thank you to Gra55 for their fantabulous editing. So much love to them <3

“Dream,” George whispered to his friend during their Potions lesson as he counted out exactly four mistletoe berries for their Forgetfulness Potion. “I need to tell you something important. Meet me in the library after this class?”

“Sounds good. Can you pass me the Valerian sprigs?” Dream replied dismissively, gesturing towards the ingredients spread out on their desk. 

George huffed, carefully handing him the plant, which Dream immediately tossed into their cauldron with a splash. 

“ _Dream_! You can’t just throw stuff in there! That’s too many!”

“Relax, it’s fine, I’m paying attention! If I put in double the amount it should be finished in half the time, right? C’mon, George, you’re supposed to be the genius here, this is basic math.” 

“That’s _not_ how math works, and you’re _supposed_ to be stirring clockwise, not counter-clockwise!”

“I _am_ stirring clockwise.”

“Do you even know what a clock looks like, you idiot?”

“Sure I do, it’s the thing that tells the weather.” Dream replied, rolling his eyes.

“Absolutely not, you’re joking, move over, you’re not touching another _drop_ of this potion.” He pushed Dream aside, staring in exasperation at the bubbling abomination before him.

“Hey! I was doing good!” Dream whined, crossing his arms. He glanced down at his potion covered wand and then glanced up at George, slowly moving the wand to his mouth.

“Don’t you _dare_ try eating that.”

George spent the remainder of their Potions class trying in vain to salvage their ruined potion while Dream loomed over his shoulder unhelpfully. When only five minutes remained until the end of the period, Professor Slughorn walked up to their work station and physically cringed upon seeing the contents of their cauldron.

“Gentlemen, it appears that your potion is an unsightly shade of olive green. Forgetfulness potions are supposed to be bright orange… _how_ did you accomplish such a feat?” their Professor asked incredulously, sounding equal parts horrified and genuinely curious. 

“Well, Professor, um...I’m colorblind?” George squeaked, the excuse sounding feeble to his own ears. 

“Be that as it may, Mr. Davidson, you will need to practice following basic instructions if you want to pass your upcoming practical examination. The same applies to you, Mr. Selwyn.”

Thankfully, Professor Slughorn didn’t actually make them consume their concoction, so the two boys made it to the library relatively unscathed, save the stern lecture Dream received from George the entire way there. 

As soon as Dream plopped down at their favorite table in the corner, George switched gears, going from potion-making safety protocol to schoolwide conspiracy theories in a heartbeat.

“After that I just left him there and went to tell the other guys at breakfast.” He concluded, “But half of them weren’t even there, so I’ll have to hunt them down later.”

Dream nodded. “You know what’s weird? Techno’s arm was _also_ slashed.” He pointed out. 

“Exactly!” George exclaimed, “But what’s even _weirder_ is that when Wilbur and Eret got attacked _they_ weren’t physically injured, just stunned!”

“That’s true,” Dream hummed thoughtfully, “But... maybe that’s because they snuck up on that attacker? I mean, based on what you told me, Eret and Wilbur only found this person once they already slashed up Techno. Maybe they weren’t ready for them?”

“But ready for _what_ exactly?” George asked.

Dream shrugged, “I have no clue….How much do you wanna bet they’re gonna call this another case of bullying?” he added with an eye roll. “As _if_ a first-year _Hufflepuff_ would have bullies. Karl is nice to literally everyone.”

“It _had_ to have been the same person, then,” George asserted. “The attacks are too similar.”

Dream thought for a few moments, then shook his head. “I don’t know who would have a problem with both Techno _and_ Karl, we can't say anything for sure. Could be someone copying the original attack as well.”

The boys went silent, then, as they contemplated the recent incidents. George wanted to spend more time discussing the attacks with Dream, but soon the boys had to hurry off to their next classes. They agreed to have dinner together at the Ravenclaw table that evening.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

By the time dinner rolled around, George had already managed to catch up his roommates on the Karl situation in between their classes. The other boys seemed relieved when George informed them that Karl was only stunned by his attacker.

“I told ya, not everyone can handle a Draught of Livin’ Death. The attacker knew it’d take more than a stunnin’ spell to knock _me_ down,” Techno had proclaimed smugly on their way to the Great Hall. 

Wilbur rolled his eyes and elbowed him in the ribs, chuckling when Techno gasped dramatically and gave the other boy a shove, causing him to nearly trip over a grumbling fourth-year. 

Muttering hasty apologies under their breaths, the boys scrambled over to their table where Dream already sat, waiting, chewing on a turkey leg as he reread the tenth chapter of their Transfiguration textbook. George gasped in horror as he lay his eyes on the greasy fingerprints all over the pages.

“ _Dream_ ! Oh my _god_ you can’t just wipe your hands on the textbook!” he exclaimed, rushing to rescue the book from his friend. 

Dream replied with something that sounded like a halfhearted apology, but George couldn’t make out the exact words through the blond’s full mouth. 

“George told you about Karl, yeah?” Wilbur asked, nodding in Dream’s direction. The freckled boy nodded, swallowing his food. 

“Sounded rough,” Dream replied. “A week before exams, too. Timing could have been better.”

Just then, McGonagall’s voice echoed throughout the Great Hall, silencing students and drawing all attention to the High Table. 

“Good evening, students,” their headmistress began. “I am sure many of you are aware of the incident that occurred near the Astronomy Tower last night. For those of you who have not yet heard, there was an altercation in which one of our first-year students was stunned.”

George glanced over at the Hufflepuff table and spotted Karl, who’s head had perked up at the mention of his attack. A few of his housemates pat his back sympathetically as he muttered something, probably repeating the same phrase about being scared half to death.

“May you be reminded once more: bullying is childish behavior. With only one week remaining until your end-of-year examinations, the staff have decided to increase nightly prefect patrols in all areas of the castle. Anyone caught outside their common rooms after curfew will face severe consequences. That is all.”

As the students resumed eating dinner, Dream turned to George and whispered in his ear. “She said bullying again. I freaking _called_ it.”

“You did,” George acknowledged with a nod. Whatever ‘bullying’ was going on at Hogwarts, one thing was certain: George didn’t want any part of it. The shorter boy couldn’t wait to return to the safety of Ravenclaw Tower, where he could curl up by the fire and study for his exams in peace. Oh, how he loved the Ravenclaw common room.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

Dream hated the Slytherin common room.

Well, perhaps hate was a strong word. The common room itself was nice, he supposed. It was a long, low, underground room with rough stone walls and a ceiling from which round, greenish lamps hung on silver chains. At the back of the room, a fire was always crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece, around which several Slytherins could usually be found silhouetted in carved chairs.

Their common room was very dark and very green. These features appealed to some students, just not to Dream. 

Schlatt, for instance, loved their underground dungeon. 

“Ah, sweet Slytherin!” Dream’s Housemate exclaimed as the boys entered. “Man, I love this place. Don’t you just love our great common room, Dream?”

“There’s no natural light,” the blond answered dismissively. “It’s kinda depressing.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. It’s more like...cool and mysterious,” Schlatt declared.

“Sure, if you like having a vitamin D deficiency.” He shrugged, “I’ll be in our dorm if you need me.”

“I’m comin' with you, I gotta grab my Charms book anyway.”

The boys walked through the narrow passage that led off to the boys’ dormitories. Their other two roommates weren’t back from the Great Hall yet, and Dream was looking forward to getting first dibs on the shower. Before he could grab his towel and a change of clothes, however, a sharp squawk drew his attention to the head of his four poster bed. 

There, perched on Dream’s headboard, was a small spotted brown owl with wide, unblinking black eyes. It held a thin white envelope in its beak, which it dropped on the bed as Dream approached.

“Hey, Dreamy, looks like you got a visitor. How’d you get in here, little guy?” Schlatt asked the bird while Dream picked up the letter.

“This is weird,” the taller boy muttered. “We never get mail delivered to us in our dorms. How did it even get in here?”

“Must be priority mail,” Schlatt said with a shrug, “First class or something.” 

Dream frowned when he read the address line. The letters _C.E.A.S.II._ were scrawled on the front, barely legible. In spite of the hurried handwriting, Dream recognized the initials instantly; they were only one character away from his own. When he flipped the envelope over, he noticed there was no return address.

He knew he shouldn’t open the letter. If it had been addressed to anyone _but_ his dad he’d have corrected the owl’s mistake and sent the bird off on its way to find the intended recipient. But the lack of return address combined with a general need to piss his dad off in any way he could overpowered any sense of common courtesy. So, without hesitation, Dream ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter.

What he saw made his stomach drop. 

_kᚾᚩᚹᚾ ᛗᚢᛞᛒᛚᚩᚩᛞ ᚠᛁᚱᛋᛏ-ᚣᛖᚪᚱᛋ_

_Ackerman_

_Baratashvili_

_Davidson_

~~_Jacobs_ ~~

_~~Technoblade~~ _

_Zakarian_

He didn’t recognize the symbols in the first line, though he had a hunch they were runic. Why anyone needed to correspond with his dad in _runic_ , he had no clue. One thing he did know, however, was that the paper he held in his hands listed six of his fellow Hogwarts first-years.

Two of the last names were crossed out neatly with a single line: _Jacobs_ and _Technoblade_. Of the names that had not yet been crossed out, one in particular caught Dream’s eye.

 _Davidson_.

George. 

Dream’s heart was pounding. His thoughts raced, countless horrible images entering his head at once. He _knew_ what this list implied, but at the same time he couldn’t believe it. All he knew was that he _had_ to show it to George as soon as possible.

Dream’s thoughts were interrupted by Schlatt, who eyed the letter curiously.

“What’s it say?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Nothing.”

“Oh c’mon, Clay—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Schlatt’s eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second before his expression morphed into one of faux friendliness. “We’re buddies, man! From one snake to another, what’s the letter?”

Dream just waved his hand dismissively at his roommate before turning around and stuffing the note back inside the envelope. “It’s not even for me,” he said over his shoulder. “I think it’s meant for my dad.”

Schlatt’s curiosity piqued at this. “Ah, ol’ Selwyn Senior. Hey, which one are you again? The Fifth?”

“Third.”

“Eh, close enough.”

Dream tucked the envelope between the pages of his Potions textbook, resolving to bring the list up with George first thing the following morning. He slid the textbook back into his bag before grabbing his towel and making his way to their bathroom.

“Don’t take too long, Dreamy! I call shower next,” Schlatt called out from his own bed in the corner of the dorm. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll be quick.”

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

The next day, George did not see Dream in the Great Hall during breakfast. 

Ordinarily, he would find his best friend’s absence concerning. However, the looming threat of end-of-year examinations coupled with the fact that Schlatt was also absent from the Slytherin table led George to conclude that the two roommates were probably holed up somewhere, studying together. 

George snorted at the thought. _Yeah, right._ They were probably sleeping in and Dream would _still_ pull some of the highest marks. Whatever the reason, George figured he’d just catch up with the blond during their morning History of Magic class after breakfast.

However, Dream was not in his usual seat when George arrived at their classroom.

George’s leg bounced nervously under his desk as his eyes scanned the room, searching for a familiar head of sand-colored hair. When Professor Binns began his lecture on the Gargoyle Strike of 1911 and Dream had _still_ not shown up, a sickening sense of dread pooled in the pit of George’s stomach. 

Something was wrong. Dream wouldn’t just skive off school with only three days remaining until their end-of-year assessments.

The class went on, but George couldn’t make himself focus. How could he? The last two times his classmates had failed to show up to places, they’d been _attacked_. Visions of Dream, bloodied and lying unconscious in a hallway, invaded George’s thoughts.

Just as George started to become overwhelmed by the anxious spiral, the classroom door opened. Unfortunately for George, the person who entered was not the one he had hoped to see. 

Schlatt silently placed his late pass on the Professor’s desk before slipping away to take his seat at the very back of the class. George tried to catch the Slytherin’s attention as the boy passed, hoping to find out where exactly his best friend had gone off to, but Schlatt seemed to be deliberately avoiding his gaze. 

Everything about this situation reminded George of Techno’s attack. The sense of foreboding grew with every passing minute. The second that Professor Binns dismissed them, he was jumping out of his seat and chasing down Dream’s roommate.

“Schlatt!” George called out, catching the other boy’s arm before he could escape. The Slytherin stiffened before turning around to face George, the neutral expression on his face betraying nothing.

“What can I do for ya, Georgie?” Schlatt asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Where’s—”

“Selwyn? I’m afraid I can’t disclose that information to ya,” Dream’s roommate interrupted with a shrug. 

“What? What do you mean? Neither of you were at breakfast this morning, you _obviously_ know where he is—”

“Of course I know where he is, held up me and our other two roommates all breakfast, the lucky bastards at least got to see the end of it.” Schlatt tsked, his stomach grumbling at just that moment as if to punctuate its absence from the meal, “See? Look at me! The man owes me a serious apology when I see him, he’ll be lucky if I don’t hex him for all he’s worth.” 

George’s eyes widened at the threat.

“Kidding, kidding, just jokes, Davidson, lighten up.” Schlatt chuckled, slapping his shoulder good naturedly, “You Ravenclaws are always so uptight, aren’t you? Shoulda known, that’s where Selwyn gets it from, isn’t it? I’m gonna head off to herbology before I catch it too.”

With a turn of his heel the Slytherin marched off to his next class, leaving George to watch him with a feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach. 

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

Dream was not at any of the House tables in the Great Hall by the time lunch rolled around. George knew this because he had gone to each one of them personally, receiving sympathetic looks from the Hufflepuffs and eye rolls from the Slytherins.

“Really, Davidson, you’re practically obsessed. Relax, will ya?” Schlatt drawled, twirling a giant mass of spaghetti on his fork. “You should get a hobby that _isn’t_ worrying all the time.”

He ignored Schlatt’s quip, mumbling something about feeling ill before sprinting off to the Hospital Wing. What if whatever he was doing with Schlatt and his roommates was over and everyone just thought he was still there but he had really been attacked along the way back? What if he also had a giant cut on his arm but this time it was _worse_ and his _entire_ arm had gotten cut off?!

He threw the doors to the Hospital Wing open, but the only student being tended to by Madame Abbott was a Gryffindor quidditch player with a dislocated shoulder. 

Needless to say, the sight didn’t make him feel any better.

George reluctantly attended the rest of the day’s lessons, forcing himself to sit through each class even though his brain kept telling him to look for Dream. He kept hoping that the Slytherin would eventually pop into one of their shared classes with an apologetic look and an explanation for his disappearance, but his best friend was nowhere to be found.

The thoughts plagued him all the way through to Transfiguration class, where Professor Winger was reviewing how to cast _Avifors_ on inanimate objects, when Wilbur suddenly asked a question.

“Sir, if you were to transfigure an object into an owl, would that owl be able to deliver the post like a normal owl would?”

George’s eyes suddenly lit up, an idea beginning to form in his brain.

Professor Winger raised his eyebrows, impressed by the question.

“What an interesting query you have posed, Mr. Soot. Five points to Ravenclaw for your academic curiosity. Now, if you recall Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration…”

George didn’t bother paying attention to the rest of the professor’s explanation because his brain was stuck on one word: _owl_. 

Owls could deliver letters to anyone, anywhere; they didn’t even need an address. Back before the school year started Dream explained that owls had a natural affinity to magic and could locate magical people using some sort of sixth sense. Which meant that George could just go to the owlery and send Dream a letter!

With this new plan in mind, George shot out of his seat the second Transfiguration was over, not bothering to tell any of his roommates where he was headed. His legs carried him swiftly down several corridors and many flights of stairs until he was _finally_ at the top of the West Tower where the owls resided. George entered the room, scrunching his nose as the stench of owl droppings assaulted his senses. 

“Okay, which one of you wants to deliver a note to Dream?” George asked his avian audience. 

A few of the owls tilted their heads and blinked at him curiously. One large barn owl ruffled its feathers and hooted at George loudly.

“Okay, I’ll take that as a yes,” George said, tearing out a page from a random notebook and reaching into his bag for a pen. George used quills in class and during exams, but he found that nothing beat a good, old-fashioned Muggle ballpoint pen when it came to scrawling quick notes.

He paused for a moment with his pen hovering above the paper, wondering what to write. He had so many questions he wanted to ask, but for the sake of brevity he kept the message short and simple.

_Are you ok? Worried about you — write me back. George._

Once George was satisfied that the words were clear and legible, he extended the note to the barn owl, who quickly snatched it out of his hands with its beak.

“I need you to take this to Dream — er, I mean, Clay. Clay Selwyn the Third. Can you do that?” he asked the bird seriously.

In response, the owl tilted its head once more and took to the skies.

 _Please be okay,_ was George’s only thought as he watched the bird disappear into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The response came as soon as George stepped out of the shower that night. Wilbur and Eret were studying downstairs in the common room, so Techno was the only other person who saw the owl tapping at George’s window.

“I think you’ve got mail, George,” the other Ravenclaw called out from the other side of the room. 

“Really?! Oh!” George exclaimed, tripping over a stray textbook as he scrambled over to his window, yanking it open with all his might. The owl flew past George and landed on his bedside table, a crumpled scrap of parchment in its beak.

“Yes! Thank you so much!” George cried. The owl let out a hoot before taking off once more, presumably flying back to its perch in the school’s owlery.

George hurriedly unfolded the paper and cast a hasty _"Lumos"_ with his wand. With the aid of the faint light of his wand-tip, George could make out a familiar, borderline illegible handwriting.

_im home. suspended last night by mcgonagal. i will tell u what happened when u get home in 2 weeks. good luck on exams u nerd. — dream_

George rolled his eyes at Dream’s horrific spelling and obnoxious use of text abbreviations, undoubtedly intended to irritate the Ravenclaw. The way that his best friend managed to write all of his letters like text messages was astounding to George given that the pureblood had never even held a Muggle cellphone in his life.

After rereading the note three more times, George let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Though the brunet couldn’t imagine a reason why Dream would be suspended mere days away from their end-of-term assessments, he was at least comforted by the knowledge that his best friend was alive and not bleeding out in a dark corner somewhere.

Still, George had so many questions he wanted to ask now that he knew the blond was safe. What did Dream do? How was Dream going to pass his exams if he was suspended? Why was his staying home all the way till the end of the term? What did his roommates have to do with all of this? Why did—

“Y’know, if you’re tryin’ to do some transfiguratin’ on that paper you gotta _say_ the spell, right?” Techno asked, breaking the silence and snapping George out of his thoughts, “Starin’ at it isn’t gonna do anything.”

George quickly set the letter on his bedside table, embarrassed. “I know _that_ ,” he huffed, “It’s just a note from Dream, I’m not trying to transfigure it into anything.”

“Oh,” Techno replied without looking up from his Charms textbook. “Where’s Selwyn, anyway? Haven’t seen him today.”

George opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it. Instead of explaining the note further, he simply shrugged. “He had to go home for an emergency,” George said as casually as he could.

“That’s rough.” Techno hummed sympathetically, continuing to flip through his homework, “Hope he’s alright,”

“I thought you didn’t like Dream,” George remarked, puzzled. “Why would you hope he’s alright?”

At this question, the other Ravenclaw shot George an incredulous look. “Geez, George, I don’t _hate_ the guy! What’d you think I was gonna wish for him to _not_ be alright? Selwyn can be annoyin’ sometimes, but this place’d be a lot less interestin’ without him.”

Wilbur and Eret entered the room, then, but Techno and George continued their conversation. 

“Y-yeah. It would be,” George stammered. “Just didn’t think _you_ would see it that way.”

“Well I have _eyes,_ you know. If it wasn’t for him my first year woulda been completely uneventful! I mean, how many people get to say they were attacked in their first year here, right?”

“We’re talking about Dream?” Wilbur asked. “Techno, you clearly haven’t been listening in history,” Wilbur chuckled, tapping the textbook under his elbow with the tip of his wand, “There’s practically an entire section for ‘attacked first years’ in this thing!”

“And now I get to be another name on a list of hundreds,” Techno sighed, “All thanks to Selwyn. Truly an honor. Write him back with my thanks.”

George nodded halfheartedly, turning his head to stare absently out the window. It had only been a single day without his best friend and George already missed him terribly. 

_Just two more weeks, George_ , he tried to reassure himself. _Two weeks and you’ll know what happened to him._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two weeks that followed were the longest of George’s life.

Exams were hell. George and his roommates barely got any sleep. Prefects were a thousand times more irritable than usual; even Philza, who was usually a kind and understanding person, took House Points from Eret for “breathing too loudly in the common room.” Needless to say, George was relieved when assessments were finally over. 

Much to everyone’s surprise (and Bad’s utter delight), Hufflepuff won the House Cup that year. Slytherin had been in the lead for months up until hundreds of House Points mysteriously vanished one night with no explanation. The Slytherins were livid, but George was happy for his Hufflepuff friends. Apparently, this was the first House Cup victory for Hufflepuff in eleven years. Karl was overjoyed. 

It felt like an eternity had passed before George was _finally_ boarding the Hogwarts Express again after the most stressful examination period he’d ever experienced. 

As the four Ravenclaw roommates chatted idly on the way to King’s Cross, he kept the note from Dream tucked safely in the front pocket of his jean shorts. Eret and Wilbur had poked fun at his decision to wear Muggle clothes on the train ride back, but George knew that his friends were just jealous that they had to suffocate under layers of black cloth in the summer heat. 

At the station in London, George’s parents were waiting for him excitedly on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. 

“Georgie!” his mother exclaimed joyfully as she wrapped her son up in a big hug. His father patted him on the back and picked up his belongings to carry to the car. 

_“Mum!_ Stop it!” George whined, blushing at the display of parental affection.

“Oh, hush,” his mom admonished as they broke apart. “As if your friends don’t hug their mothers. Just look at _that_ boy over there with the blue tie! _His_ mother got to hug him.”

“Oh my _god_ , Mum, don’t point at Wilbur!”

“Oh! That one’s Wilbur? Your roommate? Shall I go introduce myself to his mum?”

 _“No!_ Please don’t!”

“Oh _fine_. So embarrassed of everything now that you’re in secondary school. Let’s get you home, then.”

The Davidsons exited the platform together and made their way to the car park. Being back in the Muggle world felt strange to George. It wasn’t that he didn’t _like_ Muggle life; on the contrary, there were many aspects of it, such as watching television and listening to music by bands he _actually_ liked (none of that garbage Dream listened to on the Wizarding Wireless Network), that George greatly looked forward to enjoying over the summer. Everything around him just took on new meaning now that he was a wizard. 

Though some wizards considered him unlucky to have been raised by a Muggle family, George didn’t see his Muggle-born status as a hindrance. On the contrary — he got to experience the best of both worlds. 

In the front seats, his parents began to catch him up on all the things he’d missed in their neighborhood while he was away. His old primary school was undergoing renovations. Their neighbors across the street had a baby girl. A Tesco was going to open nearby. It was humbling, in a way, hearing about how his old world was going on without him. 

As the car drove steadily on, George could feel the past week’s sleepless nights starting to catch up to him. Before long, he fell asleep to the soothing sounds of his parents’ voices. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The woods behind George’s house were so full of life during the summer. By the time he had finally been able to escape his parents’ endless onslaught of questions _(How did exams go, George? Did you see that we bought our own owl to send you mail, George? How does she find you all the way in Scotland? Have you been eating vegetables at school at all?)_ the sun had already set. George breathed in the familiar scents of the forest, smiling when he spotted the faint glow of a magical Flitterby moth in midair. 

It was hard to believe that magical creatures had existed around him his whole life and he hadn’t even _noticed_ them before he met Dream. 

Dream.

George knew exactly where Dream would be, somehow. Though the boys hadn’t agreed on a meeting place, George could _sense_ that his best friend was already waiting for him.

George’s intuition proved to be correct only moments later as he stumbled into their small clearing. There, sitting atop the stump where George had set up Dream’s tenth “birthday party” almost two years prior, was Dream. His blond hair looked white under the light of the rising moon, and George didn’t need full color vision to tell that the sight was ethereal.

Dream looked up and grinned when he saw George approaching. 

“Gogi!” he called out excitedly, and George smiled in spite of the silly nickname. 

“I’m so happy you’re here,” George said before giving his friend a quick hug. 

“Me, too,” Dream replied quietly.

Once the boys were done greeting each other, George began his interrogation.

“How did you get out of writing exams?” the shorter boy demanded, crossing his arms and giving Dream a sharp look. 

Instead of answering the question, Dream threw his head back and laughed. 

“ _Dream!_ Answer me! You were absent for almost _two weeks_!”

“Sorry, sorry. I just can’t believe your first question was about those _stupid exams_. You really are a—”

“If you call me a nerd one more time I will hex you.”

“— _Ravenclaw_. And you’re not allowed to hex me, you moron. We can’t do magic outside of school.”

“I’ll just have to punch you, then.”

“ _Ha_ . As _if_ your short little arms could reach me.”

“ _Dream!_ ”

“Alright, alright, calm down,” Dream said, taking a seat on their favorite stump. All at once, the joking atmosphere vanished and the blond’s expression turned serious. 

“I was suspended,” Dream said in a low voice.

George shuffled impatiently. “Yeah, I got your owl. You didn’t say why, though.”

“I’ll get to that.”

Several moments passed in tense silence before Dream took a deep breath and began to explain. 

“The night before I went ‘missing,’ McGonagall got ahold of a letter someone sent me by accident. It was...not good,” Dream said quietly, averting his eyes.

George walked over to the tree stump and took a seat next to his friend. “How does that have anything to do with you being suspended?” he asked gently.

“McGonagall thought the note was _mine_. She thought that I wrote it.”

George furrowed his brows as he contemplated this response. “Okay…” he began. “But what did the letter say, Dream?”

Dream groaned and buried his face in his hands before he answered. “It was a list of names of a few students in our year. There were these weird runes at the top, like some secret code or something.”

George hummed, thinking. Dream was staring absently into the distance, and George knew the Slytherin was picturing the list in his mind. 

“Technoblade’s name was on it,” Dream revealed. “Karl’s too. But their names were both crossed out.”

George gasped at this new information and jumped up from his seat. “The attacks!”

Dream nodded grimly. “Exactly. It was some weird hit list.” 

“But then...McGonagall should have been thrilled to find the letter! If someone sent it to you by accident, that means whoever sent it _knows_ about the mystery assailant!”

“George. She suspended me, remember? She thinks I _am_ the mystery assailant. Or at least she thinks I _know_ him.”

George’s face fell. “But...but...that’s ridiculous! You would _never_ want to hurt Techno or Karl!”

“Well, she questioned all of my roommates. Eric — ugh, I _knew_ I shouldn’t’ve told that _idiot_ — let it spill that I wanted to duel Techno at the start of the year before the first attack. And, well…” Dream trailed off with a frown, “that detail didn’t help my case.”

“That’s bollocks. There’s a big difference between a friendly duel and attempted _murder_.”

“You see the way Techno and I act around each other. Do we look ‘friendly’ to you?”

George began to protest, but Dream shook his head and held up a hand, silencing the shorter boy.

“Look...I don’t know how McGonagall got the letter. I hid it away right after I read it because I needed to show it to you and the other Ravenclaws. Maybe it was enchanted with a failed anti-theft charm or something, or maybe that stupid owl snatched it back while I was sleeping and then it was intercepted. The point is, there’s something important you should know, George.”

George swallowed nervously. “What would that be?”

Dream’s eyes were dead-serious when they met George’s own. “That list? Your name was on it. And McGonagall read the name on the envelope wrong — that letter wasn’t intended for me. I’m Clay Ellsworth Aurelius Selwyn the _Third_. The letter was intended for Clay Ellsworth Aurelius Selwyn the Second.”

George’s eyes widened as he put two and two together. “You mean…”

“Yeah,” Dream sighed. “My dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to AO3 statistics, only a small percentage of readers actually leave kudos. If you liked this chapter, please consider leaving kudos and a comment! It's free and your feedback makes me soooo happy :)
> 
> Also, I made a tumblr if anyone is interested. It's empty for now, but I might use it more in the future! Plus, y'all can ask me questions there 'n stuff :D Here's the link: https://kangarooken.tumblr.com/
> 
> See y'all next update!


	7. Chapter Seven || Year Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second year begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome to another chapter :) This update is sponsored by Gra55. idk what I'd do without them and their epic character writing abilities. Pls show 'em lotsa love <3

George rarely saw Dream after that initial meeting in the woods. 

On the few occasions that Dream’s dad had allowed him outside, the blond boy had been noticeably on edge. George could hardly say a word about the events of the academic year, let alone hold a conversation about them.

They’d be sitting and chatting and George’s laugh would slowly die down and he'd try to bring it up only to get instantly shot down.

“Did..Did you find out anything about the—?” George would ask in a voice barely above a whisper.

“ _Shhh_ , not here!” Dream would interrupt, eyes always darting around frantically. “You don’t know who’s listening.” 

But staying quiet was easier said than done. The knowledge that someone — likely Dream’s own _dad_ — hated George enough to put him on some bizarre hit list terrified him, and the only person who seemed to know anything about it couldn’t say a word.

It was soon the last day of July, and George could count the number of times he’d seen Dream on one hand. Summer was lonely without the Slytherin; it wasn’t like George had any Muggle friends he could visit. 

He had sent owls to his roommates, asking them how their summers were going. Wilbur was on holiday in Germany visiting family friends, Eret’s cousin was getting married in Ireland, Techno didn’t respond. The fact that all of his friends were probably having amazing summer adventures made his own loneliness all the more apparent. 

He was sitting in the clearing, halfheartedly skimming the list of required textbooks while his parents’ new owl, Ruby, violently crushed a mouse with her talons in the grass beside him. Despite the fact that Muggles _are_ able to send mail to Hogwarts via the British postal service, his parents were so intrigued by the concept of owl post that they’d gone to Eeylops Owl Emporium during the school year and immediately fell in love with the stocky, medium-sized tawny owl. 

“Ruby, that’s _disgusting,_ ” George muttered, grimacing at the way the bird proceeded to swallow her bloodied prey whole. 

Ruby narrowed her eyes in his direction as she forced the catch down her throat, hooting in indignation around the mouse. 

“I know, but you don’t have to do it in _front_ of me.”

“ _Hoo!_ ”

“Are you seriously bullying your parents’ owl?” a familiar voice called out, interrupting George’s one sided conversation.

George's head instantly snapped in its direction, grinning widely when he spotted a freckled face peering at him from behind a tree. 

“Dream! You’re outside!” George exclaimed in surprise, shooting to his feet, “That makes it five times all summer!” 

“Wow, five already? Merlin’s beard, it’s too much, I’m going back in.” Dream snickered, turning around. 

“Come back here, you idiot,” George chuckled, “How’d you get out this time?” 

“I walked.”

George rolled his eyes at his friend and huffed impatiently. “No, you imbecile, you know what I meant! What about your… you know….” he lowered his voice, “ _dad_?”

Dream’s eyes brightened, “You won’t believe our luck, Georgie!” He exclaimed, “He’s gone! I’m finally free!” 

George's eyes widened incredulously. “He _DIED?!_ ”

“What? No! He’s just off on some business trip!” Dream cried. “He left for Florida early this morning. Geez, if he were dead I’d have to go to the stupid funeral and then we wouldn’t get to hang out.”

“Right…” George nodded slowly, “So...does that mean that you and I can spend the rest of the summer together? Just like old times?”

“Heck yeah we can!” Dream cheered, “I’m going to stay out late every single night!”

“And I’ll finally have some company!”

Dream smiled cheekily at that and ruffled the shorter boy’s dark hair. “Aww, Georgie! You missed me?” he teased.

 _Yes_ , George thought, blushing. Not that he’d ever admit that to Dream. “Shut up,” he grumbled instead, reaching up to tousle his friend’s hair for revenge. Unfortunately, his height disadvantage meant that Dream was able to dodge the attempt easily and pin his arm behind his back.

“Poor Georgie, so _short_ ,” Dream taunted his friend, much to George’s own embarrassment. 

“I’m _so_ going to hex you when we get back to school,” George threatened. 

“You’ll have to catch me first.”

“What?”

Just like that, Dream was sprinting in the direction of the forest, laughing freely as his long legs propelled him into the woods.

“You could at least give me a warning!” George called out to his quickly-disappearing friend.

“Come and get me, _Gogi!_ ”

“Do _not_ call me that!” George yelled before shoving the reading list into his pocket and taking off after the blond. 

They spent the rest of the day chasing each other around the forest and playing games, just like they did during the summers before Hogwarts. It was nice to be with Dream again. It was so nice, in fact, that George let himself forget the strange hit list and the probably evil wizard next door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The hit list didn’t make a comeback to the forefront of his mind until after Dream’s twelfth birthday.

He _knew_ that it was something he should have brought up sooner — his own name was on it, after all — but the fears that had clouded his mind all through July just didn’t feel as pressing when he had Dream by his side. Plus, he didn’t want to ruin his best friend’s mood so close to his special day. 

He had gotten Dream a Muggle camera for his birthday. It actually took a while for him to find the right one — the camera couldn’t be rechargeable because magic fried electronics — but eventually he had purchased a small, cheap, battery-powered digital camera from a local electronics store. Dream had been completely fascinated.

“The pictures don’t move at _all!_ ” the blond exclaimed as he scrutinized a photo he’d taken. Much to George’s amusement, Dream had taken over a hundred photos of his own feet that morning in an effort to bring the images to life. 

“That’s how pictures are supposed to be, you idiot.”

“No! The people in photos are supposed to move around. You’ve seen them.”

“Well, in the Muggle world, pictures that move are called _GIFs_.”

“I thought those were called videos?”

“A video is longer, and it doesn’t loop. A GIF plays over and over again when you click on it.”

“What? Click?”

“Yeah, like on a computer.”

“What the heck is a _comp-you-tuh_? Stop using all these weird No-Maj words!”

Dream’s birthday had been too fun and too full of incredulous cries over Dream’s Muggle ignorance to spoil with talk of hit lists and magical attacks. So George let the day pass without saying a word about it, up until the following evening. 

The boys were spread out on the grass in George’s backyard that night, stargazing and making jokes about Astronomy class.

“Do you remember when Schlatt rubbed charcoal on the eyepiece of Professor Sinistra’s telescope?” Dream asked, chuckling.

George snorted. “How could I forget? He lost twenty House Points _and_ got detention with Filch.”

“He still says it was worth it. She looked so funny with a big black ring around her eye!”

George nodded, “Karl couldn’t stop laughing when he heard the story.” 

“Bet he wishes he wasn’t one of those goody two shoes Hufflepuffs, he’d get a laugh out every day!”

“Karl doesn’t need one of you guys to do something stupid and get the teachers mad for him to laugh,” George rolled his eyes. “He even laughed on his own hospital bed! Back during the….”

Dream stiffened beside him, his hands balled into tight fists at his side.

George let out a sigh, looking away from him so he stared up at the endless night sky, hoping to get lost in it forever. They lay there in awkward silence, neither saying a word. A shooting star flew past above them and George screwed his eyes shut, mustering up his courage.

“I’m scared,” he whispered, feeling a sting in the back of his eyes. “I don’t want that to happen to me too.”

“It won’t.” Dream stated, as though it were fact.

“But...your dad is —” 

“— not even in the country. And he’s _not_ going to hurt you.” Dream turned to face him, “I promise.”

“How can you be sure? I was on the list, I’m a target.”

“Whoever made that stupid list isn’t going to start attacking kids again. I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” Dream said, pulling himself up into a sitting position.

“Why wouldn’t they?” George pressed.

“Well, you should’ve seen my dad’s reaction when I was suspended. He looked _pissed_ , but not at me. He wasn’t surprised at all when McGonagall told him about the letter.” 

“But…” George gulped, “How can that mean that there won’t be more attacks?”

“My dad has zero tolerance for stupid mistakes. He sent a lot of owls off that night, and I’m pretty sure I saw him write the word ‘stop’ in bright red ink in one of the letters when I peered over his shoulder,” Dream confessed. “Techno and Karl’s attacks were too careless. If my dad’s involved in this thing, and I’m sure that he is, he won’t be taking any more chances. It would be too obvious now.”

George went quiet and contemplated Dream’s words. They made sense, he supposed, yet he still couldn’t shake off the awful feeling that someone out there wanted to hurt him. 

“Don’t worry, Gogi. No one’ll attack you on my watch.” Dream grinned, as though he could read his mind.

For the first time in forever, George didn’t object to the stupid nickname. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Do you wiwy hafta go tomowow, Geowgie?” 

It was the day before the start of their second year, and Dream and George were babysitting Drista in George’s backyard. Dream’s mum had to do some last minute shopping before the start of term, and with Selwyn Sr. still in Florida, Dream was put in charge of keeping his little sister alive until her return. Naturally, he forced George to watch her as well. 

Though Dream complained, George didn’t mind the four-year-old’s presence. She was adorably cheeky and fun to talk to with her cute lisp. Plus, she took an instant liking to George and followed him around like a puppy, much to Dream’s annoyance and George’s amusement. 

“Yes, he has to go. We’re both getting on the train tomorrow,” Dream told her with an eye roll.

Drista pouted and crossed her little arms in front of her chest. “I don’t want Geowgie to leave. Can I come, too?”

“Not until you're eleven, you dummy. You don’t even have magic yet.”

“Daddy says I will get my magic soon! And then I’m gonna make you on fire cuz you’re a poopoo head!”

George laughed at the little girl’s threat. “It’ll be awhile until you can set things on fire, Drista. Dream _still_ can’t cast _Incendio_ correctly, and he’s twelve.”

“ _Hey!_ I can make big red sparks now.”

“Oh, shush,” George said with a smile. Drista looked pleased to hear that her older brother wasn’t a great wizard yet. Her green eyes were wide as she turned to George and asked him if _he_ could make fire.

“I can,” George boasted proudly.

“Show me! Pwease?”

“I can’t show you until I’m seventeen. Kids can’t do magic outside of school.”

Drista’s disappointment was immediate. “That’s so stupid!” she cried, scowling. 

“ _You’re_ stupid,” Dream shot back.

“ _Dweam!_ I’m gonna tell Mommy you said that!”

George laughed as Dream scooped his little sister up into his arms and twirled her in a circle. Soon, both siblings were giggling and falling on top of each other in a dizzy heap. The sight made George wish he had a sibling, too.

When the two blonds were able to stand up straight again, Dream ruffled Drista’s hair. “Don’t tell on me, Drista. At Hogwarts, you’re not allowed to tell on other kids, 'cuz if you do you get cursed. Right, George?”

George snorted, but played along. “Oh, sure. The ghosts come out of the walls and haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“ _What_ _?!”_ Drista exclaimed.

Dream nodded solemnly. “It’s true. Snitches get _more_ than just stitches at Hogwarts. If you wanna be a powerful witch someday, you can’t tell on me, got it?”

Drista’s freckled face twisted into a serious expression. Her green eyes were determined as she promised never to tell on Dream again. “I’m gonna be the most powaful witch _eva_.”

Dream smiled proudly and patted the little girl on the back. “Of course you will be. Thank god George and I’ll already be done with school before you’re eleven — you’ll probably be the scariest witch of your age.”

They played monkey in the middle with a quaffle until Dream’s mum returned. The whole time they played with Drista, George wondered what it would have been like to grow up with so much magical knowledge. To grow up _knowing_ you were destined for great things...it was hard to imagine that kind of pressure. For George, magic had been a wondrous, eye-opening surprise — a once-in-a-lifetime gift. 

Dream had once called George unlucky for being born into a Muggle family. Yet, as George regarded the tall boy before him, saddled with countless pureblood expectations and carrying the burden of his family’s troubled history, George felt grateful for his own “muddy” blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The first thing George did when he saw his roommates on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was march up to Technoblade and punch him.

“On the old injury!” Techno whined, wincing and rubbing his shoulder. “What’re you tryna duel me or somethin?!”

“ _Three_ owls, Techno. Three! You couldn’t respond to a _single_ one?!” George cried.

At least Techno had the decency to look sheepish. “Oh, yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.”

George stood a bit taller and put his hands on his hips. “Sorry is an understatement! I was so _worried_ , Techno! I thought maybe something happened to you! What if —”

“George, mate, calm down,” Wilbur interrupted in with a hand on George’s shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, he once answered a three-page letter from me with just the word _‘ok_.’ On a napkin. He’s an arse when it comes to keeping in touch with people.”

“Hmmph. He could’ve at least sent me back _something_ ,” George grumbled unhappily. 

Dream split off from the Ravenclaws to go catch up with his own roommates on the other side of the platform, but the blond promised he’d find George again on the train.

It was lovely to catch up with his classmates again after spending an entire summer apart. Apparently Karl and Bad had purchased matching pet toads over the break, because they were eager to show them off to anyone who passed by. 

“Wanna hold him, George?” Karl asked the Ravenclaw excitedly as they boarded the train. George eyed the creature skeptically and shook his head. 

“Er, no thanks, Karl.”

“But he’s so friendly!”

“I wanna hold it! Hand the bastard over!” Schlatt chimed in, appearing over their shoulders with his arms outstretched, making a grabby motion at the toad. 

“Just be gentle with him, he’s a little sensitive.” Karl said, planting the creature in Schlatt’s palms.

“Woahhhh, you’re _disgusting!_ ” Schlatt grinned, bringing the toad up to his face, “I thought you were gonna be all slimy, but you just look like a wrinkly old man! He looks just like Filch!”

“ _Hey._ Don’t be a mean muffin.” Bad huffed at him.

“Mean to who, Filch or the toad?” Schlatt snickered.

Bad considered the question for a moment. “Umm, the toad,” he decided. “It’s not nice to the toad.”

Schlatt cackled, holding the toad up high. “Damn right it isn’t! Filch is a mean bastard, I can’t stand the guy! But you’re kinda alright, toad.” 

Bad wrinkled his nose at the profanity. “I think we should go find our own compartment now, Karl. We don’t wanna hold up everyone.”

The group split up and found different compartments. George, Techno and Wilbur all piled into one together, with Dream and Schlatt joining in soon after. 

Eret had stammered out something about already making plans with someone and darted off deeper into the train, but nobody thought much of it.

The boys all took their seats and joked about déjà vu — they had subconsciously sat in the same seating arrangement from exactly a year prior. 

The train gave a warning whistle, signalling that five minutes remained until departure. Beside George, Dream pulled out a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and offered one of the sweets to his friend.

“ _No_. Remember what happened last time? You fed me _vomit_ , Dream,” George said with a shudder. 

“Oh, c’mon. There are actually some really good flavors in here.”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

Their conversation was interrupted by someone opening their door. All eyes turned to a small boy with jet black hair pulled back with a white headband currently peeking into their compartment.

“Hello! My friend Ponk and I can’t find an empty compartment, so we were wondering if we could—”

“Nope, sorry, no kids allowed,” Dream said, making to slide the door closed with his foot.

“We’re not kids!” the boy huffed angrily.

“Oh c'mon now! Of _course_ they can come in!" Schlatt tsked, then turned to the boy, "Don't mind _Selwyn_ here, you know how they are, big families and their self importance, they don't usually bother with the whole common courtesy thing." He patted Dream's arm as the blond glared daggers at him, "What's your name, kid?"

"Oh! I'm Sappitus Nappitus! But everyone just calls me Sapnap, thanks for letting us in!" Sapnap exclaimed shoving himself into the compartment as he beckoned another boy in from behind him, "This is Ponk."

"Well it's very nice to meet you both," Schlatt grinned, a mischievous glint catching his eye, "You know, we were all _just_ opening up this box of Every Flavor Beans! You guys should try some!"

"Pff, I'm not _stupid_ , there's no way I'm putting a single one of those in my mouth." Sapnap snorted, "With my luck, I'll end up with a dirty sock flavored bean."

"Oh, but that's where you're mistaken, you see. I have the absolute _best_ intuition when it comes to these candies, right Dream?" Schlatt's grin widened as he turned to his roommate with the tiniest wink.

A look of sudden realization crossed Dreams eyes and soon he, too, was grinning. "Oh yeah, Schlatt has never once led me astray with these beans. He's got, like, a sixth sense when it comes to them!"

"Woah, really?" Ponk asked, his eyes widening.

"You betcha, I can tell _exactly_ which flavors are good and which will land you in St. Mungo's," Schlatt said solemnly.

"They can do that?!" George asked, eyeing the innocent looking beans in Dreams hand as he slowly inched away from them.

"Sure can! But don't worry, I'll never let a bean be the thing to take you out, Davidson," Schlatt patted his arm, "I'm the certified bean expert of the compartment, no deadly bean passes on my watch! Hand over the box, Dream-boat!"

Dream plopped the box onto Schlatt’s outstretched palm. "They're in your capable hands now, oh Holy Bean Man."

Schlatt reached into the box and carefully picked out two beans, one bright red and one deep yellow. He stared at the beans intently, holding up each one close to his eye and making a show of sniffing them and putting them up near his ear. With a final nod, he placed the red bean carefully in Sapnap’s hand and the yellow one in Ponk’s.

"I know I've only just met you two," Schlatt sniffed, dabbing at his eye, "but I truly feel that I've gotten quite close to the both of you, and so I've picked the beans that I feel would perfectly match you."

Sapnap and Ponk stared at the boy with awe in their eyes, "Thank you, Holy Bean Man," Sapnap saluted, "I'll cherish every bite." And with that the two popped the beans into their mouths.

In an instant, they both went flying out of their seats, Sapnap heaving dryly on the floor as Ponk made a mad dash out of the compartment.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Sapnap cried, tears building up in his eyes as he coughed dryly, "What was THAT?!"

Schlatt cackled maniacally, elbowing Dream in the rib as the other wheezed dramatically, gripping onto the sides of the wall. The Ravenclaws glanced at each other, and then at the howling Slytherins, before looking back down at the new boy, who was frantically clawing at his throat in an attempt to tear the bean out of it.

"Wh-what did you feed him?!" Dream spluttered, wiping a tear from his eye.

"D-Dragon-breath pepper!" Schlatt stammered through his laughter, sending them both into another fit as Wilbur’s eyes widened in concern.

"It— it doesn't have the same _effects,_ does it?" He asked, glancing at the sweating first year who had lost all speaking abilities and was now just gasping in panic.

"Psh, hell if I know, I've never been stupid enough to try one of _those_ flavors! What are the odds that you had such great bad ones?!"

"What'd you feed the other kid?" Techno asked, a small smirk tugging the corners of his lips.

"PISS!"

And that was enough to set off everyone else in the cart. Even Sapnap's struggle was paused for a short moment to snort at the revelation. 

"Let's— let's get you to someone who can help," Wilbur stammered, holding in his laughter as he grabbed the writhing boy by the arms and started dragging him out of the compartment. "Please don't poison any more first-years while I'm gone," he added before the door slid shut behind him.

"You're an absolute genius, Schlatt!" Dream cried, slapping his back, "A genius!"

"How'd you know they would be that bad?" George chuckled, "They looked perfectly normal to me."

"It's all in that sixth sense." Schlatt sighed, calming down. "The gift has been passed down for generations in my family."

"He got me with that trick the first week we roomed!" Dream exclaimed, "I started studying extra hard in charms thanks to that so I could hex the living daylights out of him as revenge."

"Wow Dream, I thought _I_ was the only one who could motivate you to do well in charms," Techno snickered.

"Yeah well, tough luck, buttercup." Schlatt threw his arm around Dream's shoulder, "You just weren't enough for him! He needed a _real_ rival, you're just his side argument."

"I thought what we had was special." Techno sighed, "I can't believe this."

"Techno, please, I'll always hate you more, I promise," Dream assured him.

"Wowwww looks like I gotta work twice as hard to be the object of your loathing." Schlatt tsked, "Challenge accepted."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Sorting Ceremony was fun to watch as a second-year.

George enjoyed seeing the bright-eyed first-years crowd together nervously in the Great Hall. The youngest students gasped when the hat opened its mouth and began to sing its song. George cheered with the rest of his Housemates when their House was mentioned _(“Said Ravenclaw, ‘I’ll take those whose intelligence is surest!’”)_. After the Hat finished singing, McGonagall began to call out names.

“Al-Abadi, Zohra!”

A tiny girl with long black hair walked forward and put the hat on her head. Seconds later, she was pronounced a Hufflepuff. 

“We got the first muffin of the night!” George heard Bad call out from the Hufflepuff table. 

The rest of the Sorting went by quickly. A chubby boy with ginger hair joined Ravenclaw and a set of identical twins were both sent to Slytherin. After a blonde girl joined the Gryffindor table, McGonagall cleared her throat and read out another name. 

“Fundy, Floris.”

A boy with dark auburn hair and — were those _fox ears?_ — walked up to the hat. It took the hat almost three whole minutes to decide, but eventually it made its decision.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” the hat declared. Unlike the other excited first-years, the fox-eared boy did not look happy with the decision. George couldn’t understand why anyone would object to being a Hufflepuff; Karl and Bad were two of the nicest people he knew. 

A few more names were called before a name George recognized was called. 

“Nappitus, Sappitus!” 

The boy who Schlatt had tried to murder on the Hogwarts Express walked up to the hat excitedly, seemingly cured from the effects of the bean. It barely even touched his head before a decision was made. 

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The boy — _Sapnap_ , he said to call him — looked thrilled. “Yeah! Let’s _go_!” he cheered as he skipped towards the Gryffindor table. 

More names were called; a boy named _Quackity, Alexis_ went to Gryffindor as well. The other first-year Schlatt had tricked on the train was declared a Slytherin, and George snorted when he saw Schlatt stand up with a wide grin to personally welcome the first-year to the Serpent House. A few more Ravenclaws joined George’s table before the ceremony finally came to a conclusion after _Punzington, Luke_ and _Skeppy, Zak_ became Gryffindors. 

McGonagall vanished the hat with a flick of her wrist and cleared her throat. The hall of students went quiet as they prepared to hear their Headmistress speak. 

“Greetings, dear Hogwarts students, and welcome back to the most prestigious school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. I have a few start of term announcements to make before the feast begins. First, Filch would like me to remind all students that anyone found in possession of a dungbomb or fanged frisbee will be given immediate detention. Please consult the official list of contraband items on the notice boards in your common rooms.”

“Bo _-ring_ ,” Eret whispered to George’s left.

“Significant changes have been made to your class schedules this year,” McGonagall continued. The Ravenclaws all perked up at this, wondering what the new schedule changes could possibly be. “Due to recent events within our student body, the school board has agreed that starting this academic year Muggle Studies will no longer be an elective for students in their first through fifth years. The class is now a compulsory O.W.L subject.”

The reaction from the students in the Great Hall was immediate. 

“Are you _kiddin’_ me?” Techno exclaimed. Wilbur and Eret looked similarly taken aback at the decision. Over at the Slytherin table, George could see hundreds of angered faces all shouting their disagreements. 

“ _Silence!_ ”

All at once, the students fell silent. McGonagall’s voice was firm when she continued her announcement. 

“Frankly, this schedule change is long overdue. Despite the fact that hundreds of strong, capable witches and wizards laid down their _lives_ so that magical people all over Britain and beyond could live in a world without prejudice, discrimination persists within the walls of this very castle.”

George fidgeted in his seat, knowing that McGonagall was talking about discrimination against Muggle-borns like him.

“It is foolish to think that we live in a magical bubble. Muggles are all around us: they are our neighbors. For some of us, they are our parents, our siblings, our husbands and wives. Knowledge of the Muggle world is vital to our understanding of humanity as a whole. Now, it is my pleasure to introduce Professor Bianca Borealis, former Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office and your new Muggle Studies professor.”

The applause was reluctant when the new professor stood up to address the crowd. 

“Thank you, Headmistress, for your introduction. My name is Professor Borealis and I am thrilled to be teaching you this year. I understand that my subject is not one that many of you would have chosen independently, but I am confident that you will find the course material engaging nonetheless.”

Borealis paused to take in the faces of the students spread throughout the Great Hall. Her eyes scanned the crowd several times before she ended her speech.

“Dumbledore once said that we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided. I implore you to remember these words as you begin this academic year.”

“Thank you, Professor Borealis,” McGonagall said once the new professor had taken her seat. “There is another new faculty member I must introduce to you before dinner is served: Professor Aurora Travers, former Detective at the Auror Office’s Investigation Department and your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.”

" _Travers?!_ " Eret hissed beside him, glancing up nervously as the new professor stood from her seat and scanned the crowd with her piercing grey eyes, "What happened to Chang?!"

"At least Dream doesn't have to worry about her anymore," Wilbur muttered.

"What's wrong with Travers?" George asked, the former Auror looked nice enough, and her hair reminded him of Dream's, but longer. She couldn't have been that bad, he thought.

"Are you _serious?!_ Shouldn't Muggle-borns be _especially_ aware of which families to look out for?" Eret asked, not taking his eyes off of Aurora as she smiled and thanked McGonagall for her introduction, "Like, seriously, are you _trying_ to get hate-crimed?!"

"Stop scaring him!" Wilbur whispered, elbowing Eret in the ribs, "McGonagall wouldn't hire a racist. Now pay attention."

"That's what everyone thought about Dumbledore, but look how well _that_ went for him!"

"Dumbledore was different."

"Have we really not learnt our lesson about hiring former Death Eaters? I'll spell it out for you: B-A-D I-D-E-A." 

"Why are you discriminating against them now?” Wilbur asked pointedly. “That makes you just as bad as them."

"There is a _huge difference_ between discriminating against Muggles and discriminating against _racists!_ "

"Well—" Wilburs words were cut off as McGonagall took the stage again. He narrowed his eyes at Eret for making him miss Aurora's speech.

"Thank you, Professor Travers. On that note, let us all enjoy the wonderful welcoming feast our house elves have prepared for us this evening!" She waved her arm and both Wilbur and Eret seemed to forget their previous argument, their eyes widening at the endless piles of food before them.

Professor McGonagall took her seat and the Great Hall exploded into chatter from all sides. With all the lively energy around him, it was almost too easy for George to drown himself in the excitement and forget his worry over the new DADA professor. That is, until he turned around and caught the woman's gaze locked directly on him.

He tried to ignore the chill that went up his spine when those gray eyes momentarily caught his own, but the feeling lingered long after the meal was over and he was tucked away safely in his old bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to AO3 statistics, only a small percentage of readers actually leave kudos. If you enjoyed this update, please consider leaving kudos and a comment. It's free and it lets us know that you want us to continue!
> 
> WE FINALLY GOT THE DREAM TEAM TOGETHER AT HOGWARTS WOOOO! Hope y'all like Sapnap's wizard name hehe. See y'all next update!


	8. Chapter Eight || Year Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second-years have their first classes with the new professors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey mamas! This chapter, we coded it so that Gra55 has literally no chill. I woke up to discover over 4000 new words in our Google doc. Not joking. This was a blast to write and edit, so we hope y'all like it! Co-sponsored by the College Board™ and their last-minute SAT cancellation.

“Rule Number One of my class: no magic allowed.”

George’s first class of the year was, funnily enough, the now-mandatory Muggle Studies course. The first thing that Professor Borealis made them do was deposit their wands in a box which she promptly locked up and placed on her desk, much to the confusion of everyone in the room.

“Professor,” Minx called out once the students were all seated, “I’m not sure if you _noticed_ , but this is a school of _witchcraft_ and _wizardry_. Ye can’t jus’ take our wands.”

Professor Borealis merely raised an eyebrow at the comment. “Well, Miss...Minx, was it? I’m not sure if _you_ noticed, but I’m the professor in this room. It is not your place to question my teaching methods; do it again, and I shall subtract House Points. Do I make myself clear?”

The Slytherin girl looked furious, but she nodded begrudgingly and said no more. 

“Very well then. On to Rule Number Two,” their professor continued smoothly. “Discrimination of any kind will not be tolerated. If I hear you so much as a _whisper_ of anything close to a racial slur, there will be severe consequences. Understood?”

George nodded along with the rest of the class, thankful that the second rule essentially just amounted to “don’t be a racist.”

“That brings us to Rule Number Three,” Professor Borealis said, coming to a stop in the center of the room. “Respect my subject. Muggle Studies is just as valid as any other discipline at this school. You _will_ take this class seriously.”

When the professor wasn’t looking, Dream nudged George and made a show of rolling his eyes.

“Pshhh. ‘Just as valid.’ As _if_ ,” the Slytherin whispered in George’s ear. The Ravenclaw frowned at his friend’s comment and was about to admonish him for it when their teacher suddenly whirled around to face the second-years, a lit match in her hands and a glint in her eye. 

“Professor? Why’re you holding a burning stick?” Wilbur asked, pulling his quill out of his bag and preparing to take notes on her answer. 

In lieu of a response, Professor Borealis dropped the match on her desk, immediately setting fire to a stack of papers and throwing the class into a panic. 

“She’s gone _mad_ !” Eret cried, backing his desk away from the flames. George was similarly taken aback by the pyromaniacal display; he reflexively reached for his wand to cast _Auguamenti_ only to remember that everyone’s wands were currently stored away in a box atop a burning desk.

“Give me my wand back, you psycho!” Dream demanded, scrambling towards the front of the room and snatching the box of wands off the table, dropping it onto the floor when the metal nearly burned his hands off.

Professor Borealis shrugged, taking a seat at her desk before the burning pile. “Perhaps _after_ you extinguish the fire, Mr. Selwyn.”

Dream let out a scream through gritted teeth as he kicked the box, sending it skidding across the floor but failing to open it.

By now the fire had caught onto the rest of the teacher's desk and was starting to spread about the class. Professor Borealis simply leaned back in her chair and stared at the mess as one student tore down a curtain and threw it onto the flames, spreading smoke around the already stifling room. George coughed, waving his hand in front of his face to clear the air when he spotted something out of the corner of his eye: hanging up on the wall, behind a student who was sleeping through all the chaos, was a bright red fire extinguisher. 

“You magical _idiots_ ,” George muttered under his breath as he jogged up to the wall and pulled down the metal contraption, nearly dropping it due to its heavy weight. The Ravenclaw stumbled back and bumped into the desk behind him, fumbling with the fire extinguisher before settling himself.

The student at the desk groaned and glanced up from his nap, adjusting the glasses on his face as he rubbed his eyes, "Do you mind?"

"Oh, sor— Techno?"

"Uh, yeah, that's my name. We've been roommates for, like, a year, George. I was kinda hopin’ you'd memorized it by now."

"Are you _seriously_ sleeping? Aren't you going to help?" George asked incredulously, ignoring the sarcastic remark.

Techno looked around, only just seeming to notice the blazing inferno consuming the class. He shrugged and buried his face back into his hands. "Nah, if it's my time to go, it's my time to go. Have fun with that." 

George huffed and pulled the fire extinguisher closer to him. Their classmates were now frantically banging on the classroom windows, taking turns body slamming the glass to try and escape. It took George a few more moments, but he was soon able to unpin the nozzle and aim the rubber hose at the fire. There was a loud _whoosh_ as a large blast of white substance exploded from the end of the hose, smothering the flames within seconds before going out of control and spraying the entire classroom, covering the walls and other students who screamed in terror at the new powdery threat. 

The fire extinguisher let out a final splutter of powder before finally relenting. George sighed in relief, dropping the empty canister to the ground and taking in the mess in front of him. Professor Borealis sat with her arms folded across her chest, blinking at George as extinguisher residue dripped off her hair and onto the ground. The Ravenclaw winced, averting his gaze only to discover that all eyes were fixed on him. Every Slytherin and Ravenclaw in the room gaped at him except for Techno, who had probably fallen back asleep. George blushed at the sudden attention.

“Um...I put it out, guys,” he said nervously, running a hand through his hair. 

After a few moments, Wilbur broke the silence.

“Bloody _hell_ , George. What in the name of Merlin was _that_?”

All at once, he was flooded with questions. 

“Where did you find that red thing, George?”

“How did you know which button to push?”

“What was that white powdery stuff? It looked like Floo powder!”

“Why the hell couldn’t you _control it_ ? ! My hair is _ruined_!”

George winced at the last comment, but before he could even attempt to answer a single query, Professor Borealis cleared her throat, turning the attention of the classroom back to her.

“Everyone, please take your seats—”

“You expect us to follow your instructions when you just tried to _murder_ us?” Dream cried, interrupting the instructions.

“I said, _please take your seats_ ,” Professor Borealis repeated, glaring at the blond.

Dream grumbled and plopped into his seat, bits of fire extinguisher powder raining down from his robes. When the second-years were all seated at their desks once more, their professor clapped her hands together and grinned, picking up the used fire extinguisher and displaying it to the class. 

“What Mr. Davidson here used is called a _fire extinguisher_. Write it down. A brilliant Muggle invention, this is. It was invented in 1810 by George William Manby and, as you can probably tell by its name, it is used to extinguish fires. The powder within the extinguisher is a smothering agent, and is kept within this highly pressurized canister so that when it is released it lets out as a spray, the way Mr. Davidson has shown us—”

“Professor, is this thing even _safe_?” Minx cut in, grimacing at the powder that coated her hair and robes. George cringed as he realized that other than Professor Borealis, Minx seemed to have gotten the brunt of the extinguisher onslaught. _I’ll have to apologize for that later_ , he thought to himself. 

“Well, that depends for what, Miss Minx,” Borealis replied, setting the extinguisher down on her desk, “If you’re considering _consuming_ the powder I’d advise against the idea, but if you’re trying to douse a fire I’d say it’s perfectly safe.”

“Obviously I’m not trying to _eat it_ , I’m not stupid! This sh— this _stuff_ looks nasty! Look at it!” She waved her arms about for emphasis, accidentally raining powder down on the student beside her, causing him to cringe and scoot away from the Slytherin.

“Wh—?! Don’t back away like _you're_ perfectly clean you _bastard_!” Minx huffed. “We both got snowed on thanks to genius-boy Ravenclaw over here!”

“Well, you’re _welcome_ for not letting you burn alive!” George retorted indignantly.

“Well I’d _rather_ have burned alive than have this spray-on dandruff all over me!” She spat. “Professor, I can’t sit like this, I need to wash up right _now_.”

Professor Borealis considered the girl for a second before conceding. “I suppose your skin _can_ become irritated if you let the residue sit for too long.” She then nodded towards the door and Minx scampered out of the classroom. The Slytherin girl slammed the door shut behind her, which only caused more powder to rain down on students from the ceiling. 

Their teacher sighed. “Now, where were we…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Class was dismissed early so students could shower before lunch. Soon, everyone was crowded around the Ravenclaw table, discussing the newest Muggle Studies class.

“I’ve never wished to not know something as much as I wish to not know everything I’ve just been taught.” Dream groaned, his head slamming into the empty plate in front of him. “Why are Muggles so unnecessarily _complicated_?”

“Wow, _rude_ ,” George rolled his eyes, reaching over Dream to get to the potatoes, “I never tell you how boring _your_ world is.”

“That’s because my world _isn’t_ boring. Also, you’re a nerd who _likes_ to memorize magic stuff, so don’t even try to lie to me.”

“I’m not a—”

“I, for one, thought the lesson was wonderful, George,” Wilbur cut in. “Do Muggles _actually_ have quills that replenish their own ink like the kind Professor Borealis had? What did she call them — pens?”

“Oh, yeah, I have one here actually—”

“Wilbur, did you get amnesia or somethin’?” Techno, remarked, pulling a yellow pen out of his robe pocket. “You _always_ see me usin’ pens. Quills are the worst.” 

Wilbur’s eyes lit up. “Oh! So _that’s_ what that thing is! I’ve always wondered. The pen is simply a brilliant thing, isn’t it?” He asked, reaching for the pen and clicking its end curiously when Techno handed it to him.

“Uh, yeah, real genius,” Techno rolled his eyes, glancing at George as if to ask ‘ _can you believe these magic people?’_

“How did you get your hands on one anyways?” Eret asked, eyeing the contraption over Wilbur’s shoulder.

“Uh, the dollar store?” Techno shrugged. “I don’t know man, does anyone ever actually _buy_ pens? They just sorta show up around the house.”

“Wait, I thought Muggles didn’t have magic,” Wilbur said, narrowing his eyes at the pen. “How do these things appear out of nowhere, then, if Muggles can’t conjure them?”

“That—no. That’s not what I meant. Geez, guys, it’s just a _pen_. How do you have a fully-functionin’ society without pens?”

“You guys do know that you can charm quills to auto-fill, right? We’re doing perfectly fine without these stupid _pens_.” Dream grumbled, his face still planted into the plate.

“But, see, pens don’t _need_ any fancy charms. How is it that Muggles have more advanced inventions than you wizard folk? What else don’t you guys have? Do you know what a tissue is? Water bottle? _Toothbrush?_ ”

“Wait wait wait, what do you mean by ‘you guys’?” Eret quirked his eyebrow, still staring intently at the clicking pen. “Your dad fought in the war, didn’t he? You’re a wizard.”

“Well, yeah, I’m a better wizard than all of you. I’m just not a pureblood.”

The pen stopped clicking and everyone turned to look at Techno with wide eyes.

“What?”

“You’re a MUGGLE-BORN?!” Eret spluttered, “But— but your DAD!”

Techno raised a questioning eyebrow. “I mean, yeah...he was a Muggle-born wizard…my mom’s a muggle — I’m sorry, what are we all confused about here?”

“Wh—?! Well how come you never told us?!” Wilbur asked.

“I thought I was all alone here!” George cried.

“Uh...guess I didn’t think my blood status was all that important. I mean, who cares? Does it even matter?”

Wilbur wrinkled his eyebrows. “Well, I suppose not—”

“Of COURSE it matters!” Eret screeched, pounding his fists against the table.

Dream flinched at the sudden outburst, looking up from the plate with an irritated glare. “Did you guys actually not know he had mostly No-Maj— er— Muggle parents?”

“They’re not _mostly Muggle._ One of my parents was a wizard and one isn’t,” Techno huffed.

“Yeah, but your dad was _fully_ Muggle-born. He barely counts.”

Techno bristled at the comment and narrowed his eyes at the Slytherin. “And what the hell’s that supposed to mean exactly, Selwyn?”

“Nothing! It’s just that—”

“Hey guys!” A new voice interrupted and everyone’s necks snapped in its direction as the newcomer slid into an empty seat beside them. “What’s up?!” The new boy grinned, adjusting the white bandana on his forehead.

George’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh, hey! You’re the guy who Schlatt almost killed on the Hogwarts Express! Sapnap, was it?”

“That’s me! Sucks that I didn’t get into your House, right? You guys are really cool, especially Wilbur, he kinda saved my life,” Sapnap chirped, scooping some food onto the plate in front of him. “So what’re we all talkin’ about?”

Dream narrowed his eyes at Sapnap. “What _we_ were talking about is actually kinda none of your business.”

Sapnap paused, spoon in mouth, before shrugging and swallowing the entire bite. “Alright then, fine, keep your secrets, it’s whatever. I’ll just tell you about what _I_ was doing. Do you guys have any friends in Gryffindor?”

“Uh, not really.” Eret muttered.

“I don’t blame you. The second-years there are so _boring_ . I have a friend in my House — he goes by Skeppy — he’s also a first-year, and he’s planning on pulling some HUGE prank on the Hufflepuffs. He already messed with one of the third-years there and it was _hilarious_ . The guy's name is _literally_ ‘Bad.’ A _Hufflepuff_ named _Bad!_ Isn’t that the funniest thing you’ve ever heard?”

“Your friend was bothering Bad?” Dream sneered, looking like he wanted to wipe the new kid off the face of the earth.

“It was so funny! The dude kept calling him a muffin and stuff, and I’m pretty sure he almost cried when Skeppy threw himself off a moving staircase.”

“ _Cried_?!” Dream’s eye twitched and he gritted his teeth.

“Why would your friend throw himself off a movin' staircase? Is he stupid?” Techno snickered.

“Nah, there was another one coming up right underneath him, so it was really only like jumping down one step. The reaction from everyone else was _so_ worth it.” Sapnap grinned, shoveling more food into his mouth.

“I’d _pay_ to see that happen again.” Techno chuckled.

Dream stood up abruptly from the table, silverware clattering as he glared daggers at Sapnap. “I’m gonna go now. See you later, George.”

“Okay, bye,” Techno waved the Slytherin away before George could even reply. Dream stormed off, and Techno’s attention quickly turned back towards Sapnap. “So what else is your friend plannin’? Think he needs an extra pair of hands?”

“Dude, he’d be _thrilled!_ Come on, I’ll introduce you!” Sapnap inhaled the rest of his lunch as he stood up, slamming the plate on the table before sprinting off to the Gryffindor table in search of his Housemate. “Follow me!”

“Well, boys, duty calls.” Techno smirked, standing from his seat.

“Wait! Here’s your pen back, I wouldn’t want to take it from you,” Wilbur said, presenting the pen in his outstretched palms like a sword.

Techno glanced down at the pen and then back up at Wilbur’s reluctant face. “You know what? Keep it. Your birthday’s September fourteenth, right? Think of it as an early birthday gift.”

Wilburs eyes shone with gratitude, “Really? No, I can’t.” but he was already tucking the pen away into his robes.

“I insist.” And with that, he departed, chasing after the Gryffindor first-year.

Wilbur looked thrilled with his new present. “Can you believe I just got a _pen_? Incredible! I’ll have to save it for special occasions,” Wilbur sighed.

“Lucky you.” Eret muttered, glancing at Dreams empty plate before looking up at George.

George jerked his head towards the Hufflepuff table, where Dream was sitting beside Bad, laughing at something the third-year was saying. 

“He’ll be fine,” the shorter boy told his roommate. Eret nodded, shoving a bite of food into his mouth as Wilbur rambled away about the wonders of pens. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

George was thankful that Ravenclaw had their Astronomy lessons on Fridays. It meant that he got to sleep in the following morning instead of having to chug caffeinated tea during breakfast. Late into Saturday morning, he woke to find that the rest of his roommates were still sleeping soundly in their four posters. Careful so as not to make much noise, he crept out of bed and picked up his student robe off the floor before throwing it on over his pajamas. With any luck, they would still be serving late breakfast (or even early lunch) in the Great Hall and he’d be able to grab a snack. 

Downstairs in the common room, Philza was scrawling something onto a roll of parchment with a green pen. The prefect greeted George with a wave as the shorter boy approached him. 

“Alright, George?”

“Yes, I’m fine. You’re using a pen?” George asked, remembering the way Wilbur's had praised the Muggle invention the day before.

“Oh, yeah! Wil was goin’ on and on about ‘em, so I got Techno to donate me one,” Phil said, grinning and clicking the end of the pen. “I have to say, I definitely see what all the fuss is about. This thing saves _massive_ amounts of time, yeah? No need for all that ink dippin’ and the blowin’ it dry mess. Though it is a bit confusin’, I thought the ink’d come out green, since that’s what color the pen is, you know, but its come out blue, see?” He lifted the parchment up in front of him to show George the blue scrawl.

“Well, I can’t really see green anyway because I’m colorblind, but there are _some_ pens that write with green ink.”

“Really? Well what color are they, then? If green pens have blue ink, do blue pens have green ink?”

“Er, no, it’s different. If you buy a batch of colored pens in a shop, then all of the colors match up.”

“That’s just confusin’. If they’re gonna switch things up, might as well stick to the pattern, right?”

George nodded, deciding it would take too much time to explain all the ins and outs of colored stationary. “Right…what are you writing there, anyway?”

“Oh, just finishin’ up the quidditch tryout announcement. I’ll be postin’ it up on the notice board after lunch. Are ya interested? You’re a second-year now, so that means you can try out for our team.”

George considered the sign in sheet for a moment before shaking his head. Quidditch was definitely _Dream’s_ thing, and as much as he liked hearing him go on about it, joining a sports team would only get in the way of George’s studying. Plus, flying wasn’t exactly his strong suit. 

Philza shrugged and continued writing. “Well, in case you have a change of heart, the announcement’ll be hangin’ up here in the common room until tryouts are over. That means you’ve got two weeks to make up your mind, alright?”

“Got it.” George nodded, though he doubted his mind would change anytime soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You _have_ to change your mind, George,” Dream insisted only a few minutes later during lunch. 

George sighed and shook his head. “I fell off my broom during the final Flying exam last year. What makes you think I’ll even be good enough to qualify?”

“George. Come on. You can’t just _not_ try out.”

“I’m pretty sure tryouts are optional.”

“Not for _you_ , they’re not! Slytherin and Ravenclaw are sharing the pitch for tryouts, so we’ll get to be there together! C’mon, it’ll be great!”

George shot Dream a withering look. “So you’re saying I’d get to embarrass myself in front of _two_ Houses? Even better.”

“You won’t embarrass yourself, Gogi,” Dream was quick to reassure his friend. “I promise I’ll train you every day leading up to it. By the end of these two weeks you’ll be so good that they’ll _have_ to pick you!”

“I guess I’ll try out if you want me to _that_ badly. And _don’t_ call me that.” George sighed, buttering another roll. He wasn’t quite sure how Dream had managed to talk him into doing yet _another_ stupid thing so soon after he’d made up his mind on the matter, but, well…

Slytherins were nothing if not persuasive.

“Yeah George, I’ll be cheering you on from the stands!” piped in a new voice. A third boy was soon sliding into an empty seat beside them at the Ravenclaw table.

Dream and George glanced up from their lunch, staring at the first-year Gryffindor who had inserted himself into their conversation and was now filling up his plate.

The third boy paused when he noticed the silence, glancing up at the other two. “Uh, your name _is_ George, right?”

George nodded slowly. “Yeah...er, what are you doing here?”

“Having lunch, duh,” Sapnap said with an eye roll. “So, quidditch tryouts are coming up? That’s so cool! I’m totally gonna be trying out for my team next year. You two better give me a bunch of tips when you finish, okay?”

“Sure…” George trailed off, glancing up at Dream with his eyebrows raised.

“Oh, by the way, I apologized to Bad about the pranks we pulled on him the other day,” Sapnap said, assembling a monster burger on his plate as he nodded in Dream’s direction. “You seemed pretty mad about us bothering him, so I figured I should say something because Skeppy _definitely_ wasn’t going to. Didn’t mean to start off on a bad foot with you, dude. To be fair, though, you pranked me _first._ ”

Dream huffed. “Technically, it was Schlatt who—”

“And technically, it was Skeppy. I was just the messenger. But anyway…..we cool?”

Dream glanced at George, and then back at the bright-eyed first-year. “We’re cool,” he conceded.

“Sweet.” Sapnap grinned and shoved the giant burger into his mouth.

“Anyways, George,” Dream said, redirecting the conversation back to quidditch. “We’re gonna have to train _extra_ hard since you don’t have a broom of your own and your parents are Muggles, which means they won’t be able to get you one. _That_ means you’ll have to use one of the school brooms, and they’re not really—”

“Ho pahe ha muhuh?!” Sapnap exclaimed, struggling to speak around his lunch.

George looked over at Sapnap in concern.

“He’s asking if your parents are Muggles,” Dream translated. When George shot him an equally concerned look, he added, “I learned how to speak ‘mouth full’ from Drista.” 

The Ravenclaw relaxed in his seat. “Oh, uh, yeah. They are.”

Dream narrowed his eyes at Sapnap, tone suddenly challenging. “Is there a problem with that?”

Sapnap shook his head and swallowed, “No way! It’s cool, my dad’s a Muggle too! My parents are from America, and so am I, obviously, but over there No-Majs and wizards aren’t allowed to get married. You probably knew that already though, Dream, ‘cause you’re American, too, right?”

“Er, right—”

“It’s crazy!” Sapnap continued. “They’re hardly allowed to _talk_ to each other or anything. It’s not even, like, a racist thing. MACUSA is just _super_ paranoid about the Statute of Secrecy, and it _sucks._ My parents had to move here to get married without my mom having the wizard cops called on her.”

“Why didn’t they just go back to America after they got married? You coulda gone to Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. That’s where _my_ mom went,” Dream supplied.

“Eh, they didn’t want me to go to a school where they promote segregation. It kinda sucks in a way ‘cause I have a friend back home in Texas who goes to Ilvermorny now, but Hogwarts is, like, the best, so it all worked out in the end!” 

“Wow…” George breathed. “I didn’t know there were different laws about magic in different places. I’ll have to read more about that.”

“Oh yeah, there are loads of different magic schools all over the place!” Sapnap continued, taking a smaller bite of his burger, “Like, there’s a French school called _Bow-Buttons_ or something where this immortal dude used to study. Well, technically, he's not immortal anymore, I guess, but he's not dying of old age anytime soon, that’s for sure! And then there's an African school where kids don’t use wands to do magic! When you think about it, wandless magic is _way_ smarter, honestly, ‘cause wizards here are basically useless without their wands. But, hey, at least we look cooler, right?”

George blinked at the first-year as he processed all of the new information. Sapnap talked _a lot._ “Wait,” the Ravenclaw asked, “if you can’t interact with non-magical people in America, then what happens when a wizard is born to a Muggle family?” 

“Nothing,” Dream supplied with a shrug before Sapnap could go off on another tangent. “Unless a wizard randomly adopts them and registers them with MACUSA, No-Maj-borns just get left to live their normal No-Maj lives. In most cases, the government thinks it’s too risky to reveal all of their magical secrets to No-Maj families. It’s just easier for everyone to keep the two worlds separate. And, when you think about it, it doesn’t really _hurt_ the No-Maj-borns to be kept in the dark.”

Sapnap’s eyes widened and he nearly choked on his burger. “Dude! You can’t say stuff like that! What’s going on in America with magic is awful. Think about all the cool people we’re missing out on! Like, if George was from America, he wouldn’t have ever gotten the chance to do magic!”

George felt his heart tighten in his chest. He’d only been doing magic for a little bit over a year and yet he could hardly remember what life was like before Hogwarts. 

_Lonely,_ his brain supplied. _Before magic there was no Dream._

“And _besides,_ ” Sapnap continued, “what you said before about his No-Maj parents not being able to get him a broom is just _stupid_ . My No-Maj dad is the one that got me _all_ of my magical things! I think it’s the people who have been living _without_ magic for half of their lives who can actually appreciate our world. To them, magic is like a cool fantasy thing, but to us it’s just normal.”

George snapped out of his thoughts and nodded vigorously. “Yeah, you know our owl, Ruby? Mum and Dad got her all by themselves while I was at school. Muggles aren’t _babies_ , Dream.”

Dream tipped his head in acknowledgement, but his eyes were staring off into space. “I guess not…but just ‘cuz your Muggle background helps you ‘appreciate’ magic better than the rest of us doesn’t mean you’ll be any better at quidditch. Which means that we’re _still_ gonna have to practice extra-hard, regardless of whether or not your parents get you a broom.”

George sighed and went back to eating his lunch, staring off towards the Professors’ table while Sapnap flicked a pickle at Dream over his shoulder. As a mini food fight ensued over his head, George noticed that Professor Borealis was staring intently at Professor Travers. The Muggle Studies professor quickly looked away when Travers caught her gaze, however. 

_That’s odd,_ George thought as he watched Travers smile to herself and go back to her lunch.

Suddenly, a glob of ketchup smacked into the side of his face and all three boys froze. Dream and Sapnap glanced at George, then at each other.

“Scatter!” Sapnap yelled, prompting them both to turn tail in opposite directions, leaving George with the condiment dripping down his cheek and a mess all over the table. If nothing else, he certainly felt bad for the school’s caretaker.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts!” Professor Travers called out from the front of the classroom, smiling at all the students before her. “Your previous Professor, Professor Chang, had to leave due to unforeseen circumstances. From what I’ve heard, she was a wonderful teacher. I know I have very big shoes to fill, so I hope I do not disappoint you.”

Dream bounced up and down excitedly at his desk and George gave him a funny look; he didn’t think Dream had hated Chang all _that_ much, but he supposed that their former professor must’ve been pretty hard for the Slytherin to get along with due to her own personal history.

“Now,” their new professor continued, “I’m _officially_ listed on your time tables as Professor Travers, but you lot can simply call me Professor Aurora. I’m sure that most of you are likely already familiar with my family name, so you can imagine why I’d prefer my given one, can’t you?” she chuckled.

George noticed that Eret was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Only Dream laughed appreciatively along with her.

“Right, tough crowd, are we?” she said, clasping her hands together. “That’s alright, it’s a bit of a touchy subject, and I know that not all of us are, erm, _well versed_ in magical history, so let's move on, shall we?"

The class nodded.

"Great! I would love to get to know a bit more about my lovely students, so let's start with an easy question, yes? What's everyone's favorite magical creature?"

Everyone's hands shot up and Professor Aurora grinned, her eyes widening in surprise when she spotted George's raised hand.

"Mr. Davidson, aren't you a Muggle-born?" she asked, sounding somewhat impressed. "I'm quite surprised that you have a favorite magical creature already. Care of Magical Creatures isn’t even _offered_ to second-years. When did you learn about them?"

"Uh, well, we learned about some last year, and I did some reading on my own, you know…" he trailed off, glancing down at the Ravenclaw crest on his school uniform.

Professor Aurora followed his gaze and smiled when she registered the blue lining of his robes. "Of course! A Ravenclaw, studious as ever," she remarked, smiling brightly. "Please, tell us, what _is_ your favorite magical creature? Wait, no, let me guess: is it a dragon?"

"Er, well—"

"It is, isn't it? That's always the case with Muggle-borns, I’ve found. It must’ve been so exciting for you when these beasts you thought were fictitious suddenly became reality, right?"

"Well _yes,_ but actually my favorite magical creature is—"

"Yes, Dream! You raised your hand first, I think. What's _your_ favorite magical creature?"

"The dementor!" the blond grinned.

George would've been upset at having been cut off if he weren't so surprised at Professor Aurora's use of the name 'Dream'. None of the professors _ever_ referred to Dream as anything other than 'Mr. Selwyn' or 'Clay,’ and the nickname seemed to give a pause to the rest of his classmates as well. Dream seemed totally unperturbed by it, however, as the professor praised his choice.

“Dementors are actually classified as non-being due to the fact that they are amortal, but I’ll allow it. Quite the terrifying bunch, aren’t they? Do any of you know of the time when dementors used to dwell around Hogwarts?”

The class murmured in affirmation, some mentioning parents or older siblings who’ve had to deal with them. Professor Aurora nodded along with the class, pausing when she reached George.

“Ah, it seems not _all_ of us are aware of this fact, are we? That’s alright, I wouldn’t have expected it from you, anyways.” She smiled sympathetically at George before continuing, “Since Dream has provided us with such an interesting creature, I believe it should be the very _first_ we study. Though dementors aren’t extensively covered in our curriculum until Year Six, we can have a brief introduction to them in this lesson. How does that sound?”

The Slytherins cheered.

“Very good! Open up your textbooks to the chapter on dementors, it should be listed in the table of contents, you see? Now, who knows what spell is used to defend against dementors?”

Everyone’s hands shot up and Professor Aurora chuckled, “Very well then, out with it, all of you.”

“Expecto Patronum!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Isn’t Aurora just great?” Dream sighed, plopping into the seat beside George at the lunch table.

“You’re pretty casual with her, I noticed. What’s up with that?” George asked.

“Oh yeah, she called you _Dream_ back in class, didn’t she?” Wilbur added, “When did you even have the time to tell her about your nickname?”

“Oh, Aurora’s a family friend! The Travers and Selwyn families have always been good buddies.”

“Yeah, friends who commit war crimes together, stay together,” Eret muttered.

Dream rolled his eyes. “Aurora’s not like that at _all_. She’s cool!”

“She didn’t seem all that ‘cool’ when she kept interrupting me and excluding me from the conversation in class,” George said pointedly, reaching for a roll.

“Relax, Gogi, she wasn’t doing it on _purpose_. She’s always been really careful about the whole Muggle-born thing, especially with how racist the _rest_ of the people in our families are. You know, _she’s_ the one who taught me that Muggles aren’t people we should _hate,_ they’re people we should _pity_.”

The entire table paused. Wilbur stared at Dream with his eyebrows raised so high they almost disappeared into his hairline, while Techno slapped Eret between his shoulder blades when the other Ravenclaw nearly choked on a piece of lettuce.

George was first to break the silence. “Ex _cuse_ me?!” he spluttered. “Did you just say _pity?_ ”

“What kind of garbage are you spewing here, Dream?” an increasingly familiar voice inserted itself into the conversation. “Who the hell says that kind of stuff?”

“Well...shouldn’t we pity them? I mean, they have no magic, you kinda can’t _help_ but feel bad for them.”

“Nah, buddy, you’re going about it all wrong.” Sapnap shook his head, stuffing a roll into his mouth. “Using words like ‘pity’ is actually really…rude.”

“ _Condescendin’_ is what it is _,_ ” Techno supplied.

“Yeah, _that’s_ the word! It’s condescending.” Sapnap nodded, still chewing his first roll as he struggled to tear open a second one with his fingers. “Just because Muggles don’t have _magic_ doesn’t mean you have to feel bad for them. I mean, they don’t know what life _with_ magic is like so it doesn’t affect them, you know? They function perfectly fine _without_ magic, so what’s the point in feeling bad for them?”

“Gimme that,” Techno muttered, grabbing the roll from Sapnap’s hand and slicing it open with a knife.

“Thanks,” the Gryffindor grinned, picking a piece of cheese off the platter before continuing. “If we were living in a world where you could _only_ go from place to place by apparating, or one where magical creatures just flew around attacking people, or where the No-Maj had no technology to let them do basic things, _then_ we could feel bad. But we helped make a world for No-Maj people where they don’t _need_ to worry about not having magic.”

Dream sat silently and chewed his bottom lip, deep in thought as Sapnap stuffed way too much cheese into his mouth.

“Besides,” Wilbur added, “Muggles invented all sorts of really interesting things without the help of magic. Like this!” He paused to pull out his yellow pen with a flourish. “God, what a brilliant invention.”

“Muggles are more technologically advanced than wizards give ‘em credit for. S’about time for all these magic folk to get off their high horse and start _usin_ ’ some of this cool stuff.” Techno grumbled, “I can’t believe you’ve _seriously_ been livin’ without pens this entire time.”

“Did you think we just _chose_ to use quills all the time?!” Wilbur exclaimed, holding the pen delicately in his hands. “Why the bloody hell would we do that if we had _these_?!”

“I dunno, for the cool _aesthetic_?”

“You think _I_ would do something for the ‘aesthetic’?” Wilbur scoffed.

Techno stayed silent and stared at the other Ravenclaw blankly. “Do….do you _want_ me to answer that?”

“Alright, fine, but I’d sacrifice aesthetics for something like _this_ ,” he grumbled, clicking the pen for emphasis.

“ _I_ use quills sometimes even though I have pens,” George remarked.

“Well you are a _fool_ , Gogi, an absolute fool.” Wilbur clicked his pen once more and sighed softly. “I think I’m in love with it.”

“ _Oh_ -kay then, that’s my cue to leave,” Techno said, standing from his seat. “I think I’m gonna go talk strategy with Skeppy about his prank or somethin’, just...gonna go be anywhere _but_ here.”

“Technoblade, has a Muggle ever married an inanimate object?”

“ _Not_ answerin’ that, ask Sapnap,” he called over his shoulder, already halfway across the Great Hall.

Sapnap grinned. “Am I really smart enough to be the ‘ask him’ guy here? Wow. I’m honored.”

“Nah, I think it’s just because you talk the most,” Dream snickered.

“Ha! Better talk a lot then talk a lot of _nonsense_ , amirite? Anyway, Dream, I’m serious. You’re really nice but you’re going about Muggles all wrong.”

Dream nodded, his shoulders sagging. “Yeah...I’ll think about it.”

“Good, stay woke.”

“ _Woke_?” Wilbur asked, looking up from the pen momentarily.

“You don’t know what woke means?! Oh _boy_ , I have so much to teach you!” Sapnap clasped his hands together and cleared his throat. “Alright, so in Muggle culture it’s appropriate to address every group of girls with the phrase ‘hey mamas’ when you first see ‘em, got it?”

“Wait! Should I be taking notes?”

“Yes! Put that pen to use!”

“NOT with the pen. _Never_ the pen. The pen is for special occasions and emergencies.”

“Alright, got it, no pen, but write it down, okay? ‘Hey mamas’. Repeat it!”

“Hey mamas!” Wilbur echoed dutifully.

George stifled a snicker and rolled his eyes, glancing in Dream’s direction. The Slytherin seemed to be deep in thought, however, so George left the blond to his devices and simply listened to Sapnap corrupt Wilbur’s vocabulary. George was so immersed in the absurdity of the conversation that he didn’t notice Eret slowly slinking away from the group and disappearing into the mess of the Great Hall.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to AO3 statistics, only a small percentage of readers actually leave kudos. If you enjoyed this update, please consider leaving kudos and a comment. It's free and it lets us know we should keep writing!


	9. Chapter Nine || Year Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quidditch tryouts commence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !Content warning! Descriptions of a graphic injury. If that stuff upsets you, skip from "...are you asking me?" to "He tore his eyes away from the scene." 
> 
> Heyyo everybody thanks for being patient! Here's the ninth installment of this fic ^_^ for some reason this chapter was just hard to write + Gra55 and I have been busy with college applications/college itself. Another reason why this took a bit longer is that Gra55 went through and EDITED THE FIRST FOUR CHAPTERS FOR ME!!!! Woooo!!!! They write a brilliant Techno and changed a bunch of dialogue, so that's something to keep in mind if you end up rereading this ever :)))))))) 
> 
> All that being said, enjoy the update!

As it turned out, Dream had not been joking when he’d promised to train George every day before quidditch tryouts. The very next day after that initial discussion, a loud knocking sound woke George from his sleep at five in the morning. 

“Bloody _hell_ , George, who’s sending you mail this early?” grumbled Wilbur, covering his ears with his pillow to muffle the noise. Sure enough, George quickly discovered that the cause of the commotion was an owl pecking incessantly at the window above his bed. 

“Dunno,” George replied sleepily, sitting up and opening the window before the owl could wake up Eret or Techno. 

The bird deposited the letter on George’s bedside table with a hoot. George closed the window once the owl had taken off again and then squinted at the print on the front of the envelope. Frustratingly, George couldn’t decipher the writing on the recipient line.

“Um...Wilbur?” George said quietly to his roommate. Wilbur groaned in lieu of a response.

“Sorry to bother you, but could you tell me what it says on the front of this envelope?”

Wilbur rolled over and squinted at George in the dim light of the early morning. “Mmmph, pass it over,” he mumbled.

Wilbur reached into his bedside drawer and put on his glasses with a huff of annoyance, accepting the letter from George’s hands and bringing it close to his face. After a moment, Wilbur rolled his eyes. 

“No wonder you couldn’t read it. Some idiot decided to write to a person with red-green colorblindness using green ink on a red envelope.”

 _Oh. That explains it,_ George thought to himself. Wilbur paused as he took in the address line, then gasped and tossed the letter back on George’s bed.

“Gogi, your letter just burned my hand. Open the window. Now. And throw that thing out,” Wilbur hissed. 

“Why?” George asked, puzzled, noticing that the envelope was beginning to emit thin trails of smoke.

“Your bastard of a best friend sent you a howler. Quick, throw it out before—”

Suddenly, the envelope exploded. A booming voice echoed throughout the room, causing Eret and Techno to jump out of their beds. 

“GOOD MORNING, GEORGE! RISE AND SHINE! THE QUIDDITCH PITCH SHOULD BE EMPTY NOW, WHICH MEANS IT’S TIME FOR US TO PRACTICE! MEET ME THERE AT FIVE-THIRTY!”

All four Ravenclaw roommates had their hands covering their ears. After the message ended, Technoblade looked murderous.

“I’m gonna _kill_ Selwyn,” he growled. “Who sends someone a _howler_ at five in the mornin’?”

“Someone _very_ enthusiastic about quidditch,” George replied, still in shock.

“Just shut up and let me _sleep_ ,” Eret pleaded, pulling his blanket up over his chin. Wilbur nodded and waved his hand at George.

“Get out, Gogi, and please tell Dream he’s a proper git when you see him, yeah?” the curly-haired boy said as he settled back into bed. 

George briefly entertained the idea of ignoring the letter altogether, but, knowing Dream, the Slytherin probably had enough howlers at his disposal to wake the entire castle. So, with bleary eyes and a blooming headache, George changed into his athletic wear and descended the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower.

It was so early that George didn’t even know if he was _allowed_ to be walking the halls of the castle yet. Thankfully, no one else was crazy enough to be out of bed that morning, so George passed through the castle unnoticed by all except a girl in one of the portraits on the first floor, who stuck her tongue out at him as he passed by.

Once he stepped out onto the pitch, George could see the faint outline of Dream doing stretches in the distance. The Slytherin had the audacity to _grin_ when he saw George approaching. 

“Good morning, Georgie! Didja get my letter?” the blond asked cheerfully. 

George glared and imagined punching his friend’s freckled face. It was a satisfying mental image. 

“I would’ve waited ‘till after school,” Dream continued, seemingly unbothered by George’s death glare, “but everyone’s gonna be out here at that time, so I figured we should practice before it gets crowded. I borrowed one of our prefect’s keys to unlock the broom closet, so remind me to give it back once we’re done.”

George yawned and glanced down at the broom by his friend’s feet. It was one of the school’s better spare brooms, a Cleansweep Six. The wood at the top of the handle was a bit splintered, but the broomstick was otherwise perfectly rideable. George wouldn’t be able to fly nearly as fast as Dream, whose dad had bought him a Firebolt over the summer, but George had never been a fan of fast flying, anyway. 

A thought occurred to George, then. “Wait,” he said to Dream, “one of your prefects let you _borrow_ a key? Isn’t that against the rules?”

Dream smirked and mounted his broom. “She doesn’t exactly _know_ that I borrowed it.”

George blanched. “Are you _insane_? Do you know how much trouble we’ll be in if—”

“Last one to the other side of the pitch is a rotten egg!” 

“ _Dream_!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Dream had first told George that wizards _actually_ fly around on broomsticks, the Muggle-born had been excited to experience flight for himself. He’d imagined himself flying over London like a bird and seeing millions of people reduced to tiny ants from above. In his imagination, flying was fun, exhilarating, and effortless.

His daydreams were shattered in his first year at Hogwarts when he discovered a heartbreaking fact: flying was _hard_. 

Summoning the broom and kicking off the ground wasn’t too difficult, but actually _balancing_ well enough to stay airborne was another feat entirely. Unlike a bicycle, brooms did not come with comfortable leather seats or training wheels; the thin cylinder of wood on which one was expected to sit did not leave any room for error. Even the slightest accidental shift could send the whole broom veering sharply off-course, something George had learned the hard way in his first year. 

Luckily, though, George prided himself on being able to learn things quickly. He was a dedicated student, and even though flying hadn’t exactly come _naturally_ to him, hard work and practice helped him go from complete incompetence to slightly below-average ability in just over eight months. 

By the end of their first early-morning training session, George had only fallen off his broom once. Thanks to the Ravenclaw’s refusal to fly any faster than forty-five kilometers an hour, he was able to finish his first training relatively unscathed.

Unlike George, Dream apparently had no reservations when it came to flying fast. In between the occasional motivational shout, the blond spent _his_ training session flying in circles around the Ravenclaw, attempting sharp turns and swerves and all sorts of daring maneuvers that made George sick to his stomach. Dream handled his broom in a way that made it look effortless; the taller boy was a natural flyer. George would’ve bet his wand on his best friend making the Slytherin team if it weren’t for one small detail.

“Hey, Dream?” George called out from his vantage point about six meters above the ground. 

“Gimme a sec!” Dream shouted before executing a flawless spin on his Firebolt. The blond turned and looked up at George triumphantly, prompting the shorter boy to roll his eyes. _Bloody show-off._

“It’s been almost ninety minutes and you’ve barely flown higher than two meters. Why don’t you come up to the goalposts?” the Ravenclaw asked curiously. 

Dream just blinked up at him and tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

George raised one eyebrow and then pointedly looked up at the three large hoops positioned high above their heads. Dream followed his gaze, then gasped. 

“Wait, _those_ are the goalposts?!”

George snorted in disbelief. “Uh, yes.”

Dream’s face visibly paled. The boy looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“B-but...they’re so high up!” the Slytherin stammered eventually, gaping at the hoops high above his head. 

“Yeah, they’re ten meters above the ground. I read about the pitch dimensions in _Quidditch Through the Ages_.”

Dream guided his broom up higher, bit-by-bit, until he and George were at the same elevation. The blond looked as if he was about to faint. 

“Dream, are you alright?” George asked, concern for his friend coloring his voice. 

“W-we’re so high up,” Dream stammered. 

George looked down at the ground below. Sure, a fall from this height would definitely hurt, but Madame Abbott could fix a broken leg in minutes. They weren’t anywhere near high enough yet; the goalposts were still meters above their heads. 

“We don’t have to fly all the way up there if you don’t want to,” George offered. “It’s alright if you don’t feel well.”

“I didn’t know...I didn’t think quidditch was played so high above the ground…” Dream trailed off.

George couldn’t help but snort. “Weren’t you at any of the House matches last year? The Slytherin team made the semifinals.”

“I...no, I didn’t go to any of the games. Something always came up.”

“I thought you were a quidditch fan.” 

“In my defense, people don’t really _play_ quidditch in America, they play quodpot. And quodpot is played _a lot_ closer to the ground.”

“...Right. No offense, Dream, but you look like you’re going to faint. Would you like to land now?”

Dream swallowed audibly and glanced down at the pitch below. Immediately, the other boy’s eyes widened and he wobbled a bit on his broom.

“Oh god oh god oh _god_ ” the blond breathed, shutting his eyes and gripping the handle of his broom so tightly that all the color drained from his fingers. George felt a pang of concern for his best friend, who was _obviously_ very distressed. 

“Er, calm down, Dream. Let’s just _slowly_ lower ourselves,” George encouraged his friend while bringing his own broom closer to the ground with his magic. “That’s it. See? It’s not so bad.”

Dream didn’t say a word until both of his feet were planted firmly on the ground. Once he was no longer airborne, the Slytherin dismounted his Firebolt and took a seat on the grass with a huff.

“So...you’re afraid of heights?” George asked, walking up to his friend and taking a seat beside him. “You never told me.”

“‘Cuz it’s _embarrassing_.”

“If you don’t like flying, then why would you want to try out for the quidditch team?”

Dream’s eyes snapped up to George’s. “I _love_ flying. Back in Florida, I played quodpot with my cousins all the time.”

George hummed thoughtfully. “You _are_ fast on your Firebolt.”

“Fast? Oh, c’mon. I’m the _fastest_. You saw me! I can even make turns with no hands!”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re an insufferable show-off?”

Dream rolled his eyes at that and elbowed George in the side. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of you? God, no.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, just watching the sun rise above the Scottish hillside. George didn’t need full colorvision to know that the sight was beautiful. 

“You know,” Dream said after a while, “you really aren’t bad, considering you’ve only been flying since last year. You’ve got good grip and a natural sense of direction. All we gotta do is work on your balance.”

“Thanks,” George replied, cheeks warming at the compliment. He hoped Dream wouldn’t notice the way he blushed in response to the praise, or at the very least he hoped that the taller boy would attribute it to their earlier exertion. 

George couldn’t help his reactions; his expressiveness made him an open book. He was easily flustered. His teachers in primary school had called him _modest_. _Sensitive_ , his mother had always said. His bullies had called him a _wimp_ and a _bootlicker_ and a _namby-pamby_ and all sorts of other horrid names he didn’t like to remember, but Dream? Dream just called him by his name. Well, sometimes Dream called him a _nerd_ , but it never felt like a label.

Perhaps that’s why compliments from Dream always meant more.

“You aren’t half bad, yourself,” George replied. “But you’re going to have to fly higher than two meters if you want to make the quidditch team.” 

Dream went quiet again and stared off into the distance. “I know,” he said softly, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. It was then George decided to lighten the mood.

“You smell horrid,” the Ravenclaw teased, scrunching his nose in mock-disgust. “Let’s head back to the dormitories so you can have a shower.”

Dream scoffed and stood up, picking up his Firebolt as he did so. “As if _you_ smell any better, Gogi.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next two weeks passed in a sleepless blur.

George trained with Dream every morning without fail, and while the Ravenclaw _did_ sense that they were both improving, the fact remained that each boy was making little progress on overcoming his respective hurdle. George still refused to fly fast, and Dream still refused to fly high. 

It was probably for this reason that the team tryouts had gone so terribly for them.

On the day of the tryouts, George could not stop thinking about all the things he could have been doing instead on a nice Saturday afternoon. _I could be studying,_ he thought to himself. _I could be doing that Charms essay I have due on Monday, I could be sleeping, I could be_ not _wanting to vomit in front of the entire school right now._

There were far too many people in the stands considering how these tryouts were only for two Houses, in his opinion. He didn’t think Sapnap had been serious about coming to cheer him on, however the Gryffindor had not only painted his face in color shifting paint, but he had also brought signs to support both him and Dream. To George’s dismay, it also appeared that he’d forced what looked to be the entire first-year student body to tag along with him. 

“You got this George!” Sapnap yelled as he caught his gaze. George couldn’t tell if he had used a voice amplifying charm to carry his screams across the pitch or if Sapnap was just naturally that loud. 

“Oh my _god_.” Dream snickered when he spotted the over enthusiastic boy in the crowd.

“Woah, you’ve already got an entire fanclub, huh Dream?” asked a second-year Slytherin with half white-half black hair, polishing his broomstick behind them. George vaguely recognized the boy as one of Dream’s roommates, but he couldn’t quite remember the other boy’s name. 

“Jealous?” Dream smirked, turning to his roommate with his hands on his hips, “I don’t see anyone up there for _you_.”

“You’re not special, okay, calm down,” the boy said with a roll of his eyes, “I made nice with a first-year too. Their entire year didn’t just come here for _you_ , alright?”

“Wow, _a_ first-year? One whole entire first-year? That’s _insane_ , you’re crazy!”

“Oh, quit pretendin’ like any of the kids up there actually know who you are,” a familiar voice snorted. “Those are all jus’ Sapnap’s friends. I’m willin’ to bet my wand that those children wish they were anywhere _but_ here right now.”

“Techno?” George gasped. “What are you doing here?”

Techno raised an eyebrow at him, “Uh, last time I checked, quidditch tryouts were happenin’ here. Did I get the address wrong?”

“No, I mean, why?”

“ _Why_ am I doin’ here? That’s grammatically incorrect, George—”

“You know what I mean!”

“Well, it’s pretty self-explanatory, isn’t it? I’m at quidditch tryouts to try out for quidditch. Are you _sure_ you’re a Ravenclaw?” He asked as the Slytherin boy snickered behind him.

“Yeah, even _I_ got it, dude.” He said, pointing a greased up towel at himself.

“But you never said anything about trying out!” George spluttered, ignoring the jab at him. “You knew I was practicing this whole time with Dream. Why didn’t you join us?”

“Uh, no offense, but I think most of us would rather serve detention with _Filch_ than practice quidditch with Dream,” the Slytherin boy cut in, flicking a strand of white hair out of his face.

“Yeah, what he said,” Techno nodded before voicing a question George himself had wanted to ask. “Uh, sorry if this comes across as rude, but who’re you again?”

“Oh, I see, Dream doesn’t need an introduction but _I_ do, huh? What am I, some random side character?”

“No, Dream just plops himself down at my lunch table every day, so I’m kinda _forced_ to know him,” Techno rolled his eyes. “Here, I’ll go first. You can call me Techno.”

The boy looked the Ravenclaw up and down before shrugging. “Fine, my name’s Andrew Gémure-Boye—”

“The _Eightieth_!” Dream interrupted.

“Eightieth?!” George cried, his eyes widening.

“I was _getting_ to that,” the Slytherin glared at the blond. “The Gémure-Boye family has a philosophy: if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Mine’s a tried and true name, even if it’s a bit overused. On the bright side, GB80 is a pretty sick nickname, right?”

“Wow, nicknames based off of _actual_ names? Haven’t heard one-a those in a while,” Techno said, staring pointedly at Dream, who rolled his eyes in response.

“Woah there, don’t pull me into your random drama,” GB80 held his hands up in mock surrender, “ _you_ don’t have to sleep in the same room as this guy. I’m trying to keep my beef strictly with people who _don’t_ have access to my unconscious body.”

“I can respect that.” 

“I appreciate it.”

“I’m still wondering who the hell is up there for you.” Dream said, scanning the stands while carefully avoiding Sapnap’s gaze. The Gryffindor boy would not stop jumping up and down and waving his arms. A few of the other first-years who George didn’t even recognize were holding signs with his and Dream’s names on them, much to their embarrassment. 

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know, Mr. Popular,” GB80 smirked, running the towel one final time over his broomstick before throwing it over his shoulder and completely missing the dirty towel bin.

Dream glanced down at the towel, and then back up at his roommate, “Uh, yeah, that’s why I asked—”

“Alright everyone! Let’s get settled!” The Ravenclaw captain called out. George recognized her as one of the students in Philza’s year. “We’re gonna start off by flying some laps around the pitch. Anyone who isn’t off the ground in the next minute is out!”

“Guess the universe wants it to stay a secret,” the Slytherin shrugged, “I’ll see you out there, boys.” With that, GB80 mounted his broom and flew off towards the stands, causing the spectating Slytherins to erupt into cheers. 

“You’d think the Holyhead Harpies had walked on there with all the noise they’re makin’,” Techno huffed, “Good luck out there, guys.”

“I won’t be needing any _luck_ ,” Dream tsked, “I’m gonna get in through pure talent.”

“Yeah, you sure like keepin’ things pure,” Techno snickered.

“Oh come _on_!” Dream cried as Techno sped off on his broom, leaving the other two in the dust, “That wasn’t funny!”

“He didn’t mean anything by it,” George assured him, “You just gave him a really good opportunity.”

“Oi, Selwyn! Davidson! Are you here for spots on your quidditch teams or are you here for a chat?” Madame Hooch called out from the side of the pitch. 

The boys shared an exasperated glance before lifting off in unison, though Dream quickly whizzed ahead on his Firebolt, leaving George trailing behind the group of students. Apart from Techno, only one other Ravenclaw in George’s year was trying out: Adele Robinson, a quiet girl with whom he didn’t interact much aside from when they both happened to get stuck outside the common room door and had to work together to solve the knocker’s riddle. For the most part, only older students had showed up to the tryouts. 

After about five minutes of flying in circles, the Ravenclaw and Slytherin captains landed gracefully in the center of the pitch. One by one, students followed suit, eventually forming a wide circle. George was among the last to descend and stumbled a bit when it came time to dismount, but, luckily, no one seemed to notice. Everyone else had their eyes trained on the captains in the center of the circle.

“Alright, listen here,” the Slytherin captain announced, putting one hand on her hip. “If you don’t know already, I’m Vivian Vovchuk, Seeker and Captain of the Slytherin quidditch team. This is my final year at this school and my last chance to win the Quidditch Cup, so I’m looking for winners today. Slytherin’s in need of a Chaser and a Beater to replace Lee and Stevens, and I’ll also be recruiting a backup Seeker to take my place after I graduate. I’ll let Eloise here introduce herself, and then we’ll begin.”

The Ravenclaw captain nodded and cleared her throat. “Thanks, Vivian. My name’s Eloise McNairy and I play Chaser. This is my first year as Ravenclaw Captain. We have openings for Chaser and Keeper, so the Ravenclaw tryouts will likely center on goalkeeping and scoring.”

A few of the Ravenclaws nodded at the information, likely contemplating the available positions. George hadn’t even _known_ which positions were vacant until that moment, so he had absolutely no clue which one to go for. He gripped the handle of his borrowed broom nervously and hoped his ignorance wouldn’t put him at _too_ much of a disadvantage. 

“For the first two hours or so, Slytherin and Ravenclaw will be practicing on opposite ends of the pitch,” Vivian informed everyone. “During this phase of the trials we’ll be eliminating a lot of you. After the first phase, we’ll have our finalists play in a friendly Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw practice match.”

“Easy,” GB80 snickered, prompting a Ravenclaw fourth-year to smack him lightly on the head with a broom in response.

“For the first phase of the tryouts, we’re going to be assessing your passing skills,” Vivian continued, ignoring the interruption. “For this round, I want everyone to pair off and split up according to your Houses. Once you have a partner I need you to grab a quaffle from the quaffle bin, take off, and start passing! If I catch anyone faffing around aimlessly, you’ll be automatically disqualified, ye hear?”

The Slytherin students immediately split off into pairs and began to nab quaffles from the bin. George saw Dream fly off with GB80 to begin the passing drill. Soon, only Ravenclaws remained on the ground.

“Right,” Eloise said loudly, “Ravenclaws will be doing the same exercise. Find a pair, grab a quaffle, and take off. I’ll be coming around with some of the other members of our team to examine your technique, so you better stay focused! Start now!”

George scanned the other Ravenclaw students on the pitch, looking for someone non-intimidating and preferably in his own year. Unfortunately, Techno had already paired up with a fourth-year and was well on his way to the opposite end of the pitch, which left George with only one other second-year option. 

“Erm, Adele?” he asked the Ravenclaw girl, tapping her on the shoulder. She turned around and met him with a curious gaze. 

“Alright, George?”

“Er, yes. I was wondering, well…” he broke off, gesturing to the other students flying around them, “do you have a partner yet?”

Thankfully, Adele shook her head and smiled. “Not yet. Want to pair up?” 

George nodded gratefully and jogged up to the quaffle bin. Only the scuffed ones were left by then, but he supposed they’d work for the simple exercise. Quaffle in hand, George mounted his broom and shakily flew it back towards his partner. He almost lost his balance when an older Ravenclaw boy veered sharply in front of him to catch a wayward quaffle, but through sheer luck and prayer, he managed to right himself and stay airborne. 

About three seconds into the passing activity, George discovered that Adele had a _very_ strong throw. Her first pass hit him straight in the chest and nearly knocked the wind out of him. 

“Are you alright?” she had called out immediately afterwards, concerned. 

“Yes! Perfectly fine!”

Refocusing, George tried to put as much force into his own throw as he could. He gripped the leather ball with both hands and held it above his head, arching his arms backwards slightly for momentum. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Ravenclaw captain approaching on her Nimbus 2001.

George took a deep breath and threw the leather ball. It made it about halfway to Adele before it lost momentum and began to fall towards the ground. 

“Sorry!” George said, embarrassed, as the girl dove down expertly to retrieve it. 

“No worries!”

When his partner was back in position, Eloise paused in front of her and complimented her throw. The captain didn’t say anything to George, however. 

As the passing exercise continued, George knew he would have to be bolder if he wanted to catch the Ravenclaw captain’s eye. So, when he saw that one of Adele’s throws was headed too far to his right, he yanked the handle of his broom to one side and sped off to catch the quaffle.

Unfortunately for George, his borrowed broomstick was splintered from years of use. The right side of the wooden handle had a single jagged edge that no one had bothered to repair before tryouts, and it was this jagged edge that slashed open the Ravenclaw’s right hand when he gripped his broom handle to make the turn. 

A sharp pain shot through George’s hand, causing him to instinctively recoil and clutch his injury. Unfortunately, this motion left him struggling to regain his balance with only one hand available to steady himself on his broom. George leaned forward and brought his legs closer to his body in a last-ditch attempt to remain airborne, but it was too late to correct the balancing error. 

The next several seconds passed in slow motion. George heard Adele shout his name in a panicked voice just as his broom took a nosedive and he started falling headfirst. In a desperate effort to avoid a straight-on collision with the ground, George channeled all his magic into the hand still holding the broom handle. 

Fortunately, he did not crash into the ground. Unfortunately, he _did_ crash into the stands. 

His right side took the brunt of the impact, sending a wave of numbing shock throughout his body as he tumbled into the audience. Gasping for air, he bolted upright to assess the damage, panic seizing him as the movement caused his head to swim and his vision to blur. He collapsed against the stands again, supporting his body on one of the benches.

He vaguely registered a hand tapping lightly on his shoulder. Someone was speaking to him, but he couldn’t hear much over the blood rushing in his ears. It took a few moments for the voice to finally sink in.

“...okay, George? George?! Can you hear me?!” 

The Ravenclaw blinked open his eyes and tried to focus on the face looming over him. “S-Sapnap?” he stammered.

“Oh thank _everything_ — he’s conscious, Professor Aurora!” Sapnap called out to someone nearby. As the stars began to fade from George’s vision, a bit of the feeling returned to his leg.

“Is it...raining?” the second-year asked, feeling a warm wetness against his robes.

“Uh, yes? No. Just, ho boy— George— oh god. Just lie back down, alright? Um, or don't! Wait, don't, no, you shouldn't fall asleep, that's a concussion, right? Just hang tight, Abbott’ll be here in a minute, and you probably don’t want to see—”

George blinked blearily at the instructions, glancing down at his leg as Sapnap rambled on. He squinted at the appendage, or rather, the place where it was _supposed_ to be. Despite his vision being blurred, he was sure that an entire limb would at least be somewhat visible.

“Um...Sapnap?" He croaked, interrupting the boys panicked yammering, "Where’s my leg?” 

The Gryffindor grimaced and coughed nervously, averting his gaze from where the leg should’ve been, “Well, uh, ha! Funny story actually! Well, not really. It's not funny. Um....It’s there, I promise, nothing Madame Abbott can't fix, right?”

"...are you asking me?"

"N-No! I'm telling you, it's fine, it'll _be_ fine at least, it's just, you know….bent the wrong way? It's no big deal, I swear, I've gotten worse injuries from the playground! No I haven't. That's a lie. You'll be fine though."

“Bent the wrong way? What do you — _oh._ ”

When George was seven, he’d broken his arm by falling off the monkey bars. It had only been a small fracture, just _barely_ visible on the X-ray, so the doctors had given him a cast and sent him off on his way. It had taken about a month to heal, but George’s arm had been good as new once the cast was removed.

Unlike when he was seven, George didn’t need an X-ray now to see that his leg was broken. The jagged edge of the fracture had burst through his skin, shredding through muscle and tendon in the process. Dark, sticky blood pooled around him like a shadow, its warmth entirely out of place amongst what appeared to be the shards of his misplaced bone.

He tore his eyes away from the scene, choking back a gasp, “I-I think I’m going to faint, now,” he whispered to Sapnap.

“Don't! Your brain’ll explode or something! Isn’t that what happens in a concussion? I don’t know!” Sapnap cried, his breaths coming quick, “Just stay awake, okay? I don’t want to clean your head juice off of my robes, oh my god, don’t die, the matron’s on her way, any minute now— George? George! No! If you pass out _I’ll_ pass out—!”

But before George could even think of poor Sapnap’s consciousness, the world went dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream was so focused on putting on a good performance for the Slytherin captain that he didn’t even notice the commotion at first. GB80 had been the one to point it out to him. 

“Woah, I think a Ravenclaw kid just rekt himself on the other side of the pitch,” the other Slytherin remarked, pointing at a spot over Dream’s shoulder. When the blond turned around, he saw that a group of people in blue robes were crowded around a spot in the stands. Indeed, it appeared as if one of the quidditch hopefuls had suffered a fall. 

“Slytherins! Quit craning yer necks and getting distracted!” Vivian shouted at the Slytherin students. “Accidents happen in this sport! Get on with your passing drills!”

Dream wanted to get right back to the tryout, but a lingering thought kept his eyes trained firmly on the other side of the pitch. 

_George._

George wasn’t the best flyer on the field, but Dream knew he was competent enough to go five minutes without getting into a catastrophic accident. So why, then, was his gut telling him that something was wrong with his best friend?

“Hey, partner, Captain’s flying towards us. You should probably toss me the quaffle or something. You know, look sweaty,” GB80 called to him, miming a toss as he pulled Dream out of his thoughts. 

“Oh, right. Catch!” Dream responded, sending the quaffle sailing through the air and straight into his roommates’ hands. 

The Slytherin captain nodded approvingly at the pass and jotted something down on a piece of parchment. Dream wondered how much he’d have to practice to be able to balance on his broom _and_ take notes at the same time. 

After the passing drill, Vivian made them complete an obstacle course. One by one, people were eliminated and told to leave the pitch. Dream and GB80, despite being some of the youngest students trying out, managed to make it all the way to the end of Phase One. 

As soon as the teams were let off for their water breaks, Dream had run into the crowd of Ravenclaws, with his roommate trailing behind him. He craned his neck in an attempt to find George, his shoulder’s sagging when he realized that his best friend had probably not made it through to the next phase.

“Cold blooded, Dream, leavin’ your friend behind.” Techno drawled, appearing over his shoulder. 

“I mean, it sucks that George didn’t make it, but there’s nothing I could do about it,” the blond sighed, “If we’d been able to partner up I could’ve covered for him.”

GB80 shrugged and clapped Dream on the back. “Psh, George is a noob. He’ll get another chance next year. You should be thankful you got to play with a pro like me.”

Techno squinted at the Slytherin, “Pro, huh? That remains to be seen…” he took a sip of his water, “Anyways, Professor Aurora told me to tell you that he’ll probably be in the Hospital Wing all day, guess you can go ‘n see him right after tryouts. Looks like you aren’t _too_ heartbroken about the whole thing, though, so maybe it’d be better to let him rest.”

Dream’s breath caught at Techno’s words. “I’m sorry, _what_? The Hospital Wing?”

“That’s uh...that’s _usually_ where kids go when their bones start pokin’ outta their skin, yeah.” 

“ _Bones?!_ ”

“Woah woah, hold on!” GB80 spluttered, blinking his heterochromatic eyes in shock, “I think we’re missing a couple of steps here. Mind giving us a rundown about what Noobidson got himself into?”

“Are you guys serious?” Techno quirked an eyebrow at the two incredulous boys. “How often do people fall out of the sky that you just casually missed that whole situation?”

“That was _him_?!” Dream cried.

“Our captain didn’t let us check! Did you honestly think that an entire group of Slytherins was staying away from drama out of their own free will?!”

“That’s a good point…” Techno muttered. “Well, uh...surprise? I guess?”

“Man, your idea of surprises is _messed up_.” GB80 huffed, “I’m never telling you when my birthday is.”

“May eighteenth,” Techno replied, before throwing his head back and chugging down the rest of his water bottle.

“Wh—!”

“I have to go.” Dream declared.

“Wait, hold on, stop, this man just read my mind or something—!”

“I don’t care. I have to go.”

“You know if you leave the pitch you automatically get disqualified, right?” Techno asked.

“Do you think that _matters_?! You just told me my best friend’s bones were popping out of his skin like it’s nothing and you think I’m gonna continue quidditch tryouts now?”

“...yeah?”

“No!”

“I’m still on the birthday thing!”

“Take this, put it away for me, I’m going to check on George.” Dream huffed, shoving his broom into GB80’s hand before sprinting off the field and making a mad dash towards the Hospital Wing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to AO3 statistics, only a small percentage of readers actually leave kudos. If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider leaving kudos and a comment. It's free, anonymous, and it lets us know you want us to keep writing! 
> 
> See y'all next update!


	10. Chapter Ten || Year Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George recovers from his injury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! We're back with another magical update :D poor Gra55 hurt their finger and had to edit this with one hand, so give them some extra love and appreciation please!

Dream tore down the corridors, pushing past students without so much as a wayward apology in the direction of their disgruntled shouts. He took the stairs to the Hospital Tower two at a time, groaning when one of the staircases began to move beneath his feet. Fortunately, he just _barely_ managed to throw himself onto the next floor in time. Unfortunately, the leap caused him to crash directly into Eret, who was knocked over by the force of the impact and sent sprawling to the floor.

"And I _just_ left the Hospital Wing!" Eret groaned, rubbing his forehead in pain.

"Wait, you did?!" Dream exclaimed, leaping to his feet and ignoring the throbbing ache on his own skull as he shook Eret by the shoulders. "Is George okay? Is he there?"

“Ow! Yes! He's fine! Madame Abbott’s over there fussing over him,” Eret cried, pushing the other boy off. “I just went along to tryouts to watch Techno, but then George took a nosedive into the stands and…” he paused and winced at the memory. "It got really bad, so I couldn't stay in there for too long. Sapnap kept saying he felt like he was going to faint so they let _him_ stay, but I had to, uh….I had to get out of there."

"Don't worry. I'll make sure he's fine and let you know," Dream assured him, patting his back.

"Thanks…" Eret replied, glancing over Dreams shoulder. "Um, are you sure you need to be in there? It'll probably be better for George if you just...stay away. Maybe give him some space?"

"Are you kidding?! There's no _way_ I'm gonna just let George sit there in a hospital bed by himself!"

"He's _not_ by himself though!" Eret said, biting his bottom lip nervously. "Madame Abbott and Professor Travers are there, and so's Sapnap. They don't really _need_ you there, you know?"

"I don't care! If Sapnap's gonna be there then so should I! I'm George's best friend!"

"Is that _really_ why you wanna be there, though?" Eret asked, his tone suddenly turning cold.

Dream raised an eyebrow at him, "Um, duh? Why else?" 

A few seconds of silence passed as Eret held his gaze, before shaking his head and looking away. 

"Never mind, I have to go." He said hurriedly, clambering to his feet. "Have fun in the Hospital Wing."

Dream hardly had a moment to respond or consider the strange interaction since he was already halfway down the hall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream was completely out of breath by the time he burst into the Hospital Wing. He instantly doubled over, gasping for air with his hands on his knees.

Looking up through squinting eyes, his gaze immediately found George. The Ravenclaw appeared to be sleeping in one of the many white cots, empty potion vials littering his bedside. His athletic robes were torn and dirtied from his earlier fall, and it looked as if Madame Abbott had cut a portion of the fabric away in order to tend to the wound. 

Despite the pounding of his heart in his ears, he could hear Sapnap complaining loudly to the matron about something on the other side of the room.

Dream huffed and righted his position, still focused on the figure of his best friend, when a familiar voice called his name.

“Dream! Come to see Mr. Davidson?” Professor Aurora waved cheerfully at him. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was sitting a little ways away from George’s bedside and appeared to have been watching the Ravenclaw while he slept. 

Dream nodded and took several steps forward until he was at the foot of his friend’s bed. The Slytherin couldn’t help but shudder at the sight of George’s leg. The limb had obviously been reset and was a deep shade of purple, and there was a newly formed scar slightly below the boy’s knee where the bone must have poked through the skin. 

“Nasty scar, isn’t it? Poor thing was in so much pain that Hannah had to administer a Dreamless Sleep Potion,” Professor Aurora informed Dream, clearly following his train of thought. 

“Is he gonna be alright, though?” 

“Oh, he’ll be fine, Dream. He drank two vials of Blood-Replenishing Potion when he arrived, and the bone was reset nicely. It’s a good thing I was close by when he fell.”

Just then, Madame Abbott emerged from behind a curtain, tugging Sapnap along by the arm. 

“But I really _do_ feel sick, ma’am!” the first-year whined.

“I’ve had enough of this, Mr. Nappitus. You are disturbing the other patients.”

“What other patients? George is the only other patient here, and he’s passed out cold!” He gestured towards the sleeping Ravenclaw, "Plus he doesn't care! Right George? ' _You're so right Sapnap! And also very handsome!_ ' See? He's cool with it!" 

"That was a spot-on impression," Dream snickered, causing Sapnap to snap his head in the Slytherins direction.

“Dream? You’re here? But what about tryouts?! I thought—” 

“ _Enough_ , Mr. Nappitus. Please exit the Hospital Wing,” Madame Abbott cut in. 

“Why does _he_ get to stay, but I don’t?!”

“Because Mr. Selwyn is being quiet and respectful, unlike yourself. You first-years are always here crying wolf about your supposed illnesses, wasting my potion supply…”

Dream didn’t catch the rest of Madame Abbott’s complaint because he suddenly became distracted by movement in the corner of his eye. While the matron was busy chiding Sapnap, Professor Aurora had shifted in her seat and pulled out her wand. Dream watched, confused, as the professor hovered the wooden tip over George’s injured leg and muttered something under her breath. The sleeping Ravenclaw’s bloodstained robes suddenly began to lighten in color as dried brown flakes were lifted from the fabric.

“...and spattergroit can be asymptomatic at first, so I’ll probably _die_ if you kick me out!” 

"Mr. Nappitus, the side effects of spattergroit include an inability to _speak_ , which you've _very much_ proven to not be the case."

"I just SAID it could be asymptomatic! You _do_ know what that means, right?"

"Why, I never….!"

While the argument carried on in the background, Dream watched curiously as the flakes transformed in midair, reverting back to crimson drops. Aurora pulled a small glass vial from her robes and guided the liquid into the vessel with one fluid wand motion, only lowering her wand and popping a cork into place once the vial was completely full.

"You are leaving and that's _final!_ "

"But—! But I—!" Sapnap stuttered just as the doors to the hospital wing burst open, revealing a disheveled looking Professor Borealis standing in the entrance.

"Those damned ghosts..." she muttered.

Sapnap glanced between the Muggle Studies professor and Madame Abbott before letting out a dramatic gasp. His eyes rolled back into his skull theatrically as he collapsed to the floor, smacking his head against a hospital bed on his way down with enough force to knock himself out for real.

"Oh _please_ , Mr. Napittus, lift yourself up this _instant_ or I'll be forced to call down the headmistress!"

Sapnap remained unresponsive, his tongue lolling out.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Abbott grumbled. "Bianca, if you wouldn't mind…"

Professor Borealis glanced down at Sapnap before her eyes wandered in Aurora’s direction, meeting the other woman’s gaze. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor shot her a warm smile in return, causing Borealis to look away hurriedly and refocus on helping Abbott lift Sapnap into a hospital bed.

Aurora was still smiling to herself when Dream looked back at her, but dismissed the odd interaction and focused instead on the earlier action he’d witnessed. "What was that all about?" he asked the professor curiously.

"Weren’t you paying attention to the spectacle, Dream? And after your friend went through all that trouble to put on such a great show for us..." she chuckled.

"No, I meant the _other_ thing. The thing you did with—"

"Oh,” Aurora said, smiling softly. “You mean with Bianca. Well, she and I are a whole other—"

"No! I meant what you did just now with George's blood!"

At this outburst, Aurora’s eyes momentarily widened in surprise before her expression relaxed once more. "Oh, you saw that? It's nothing, really," she assured him, waving her hand dismissively. "His robes were filthy, and it’s standard to take samples in for testing when a student winds up in the Hospital Wing. I’ll just be dropping this off by the Potions classrooms downstairs."

Dream was about to reply when Professor Borealis suddenly appeared over his shoulder. 

“Would you like some company, Professor Travers?” the Muggle Studies professor asked cheerfully, smoothing out her robes with her hands.

Professor Aurora glanced around the room before shaking her head. "Oh that won't be necessary, Bianca dear. it's only a quick stop—"

"Please, I insist! I won't allow you to go on your own. The ghosts are being terribly rude today, and I'd hate for them to jeopardize the blood sample with their mischief."

"Ah yes, I can see how well _you_ managed to fight them off, Bianca," Aurora teased, looking pointedly at the other professor’s disheveled appearance, "but I suppose if you _insist_ on joining me, there's nothing I can do to stop you." She sighed, rising from her seat. "Come on, then."

And with that, the two women exited the hospital wing side by side, leaving Dream alone with an unconscious George, a _pretending_ -to-be-unconscious Sapnap, and a matron who was too busy fussing over them both to process the recent strange interactions.

"Tell me, do _you_ have a spontaneous case of spattergroit as well?" Abbott asked with a sigh.

Dream shook his head in response.

Madame Abbott looked relieved at his answer. "Well, as long as you don't disturb these two too much, I suppose you may stay for a while."

"Thank you," he said, settling into a chair by George's beside as the matron nodded and turned to go to the back of the infirmary.

Once the matron had finally disappeared behind the curtain, Dream smiled and turned to Sapnap’s supposedly unconscious body. "She's gone,” he whispered to the first-year.

Sapnap immediately huffed and sat up in his bed. "Thank god, my tongue was getting dry."

"Are you actually okay? You hit your head pretty hard with that fall."

"Psh, that's nothing, especially not compared to _this_ guy,” the Gryffindor said, gesturing to George.

“Must’ve been pretty bad.”

“It was worse than pretty bad. You should've seen his leg _before_ Abbott took care of it," Sapnap said, cringing at the memory. "Or uh, maybe it's better that you didn't. It was kinda disgusting."

Dream nodded, looking at the marred appearance of his friend's leg. He knew the scars weren't permanent, non-magical wounds never were, but that didn't stop him from grimacing at the thought of what his friend had experienced.

Sapnap crossed and uncrossed his legs absentmindedly, seemingly thinking about something. "So,” he finally said, “Borealis and Aurora were here before, right?"

"Yeah,” Dream answered. “Hey, why do you think Borealis even came here in the first place?" 

Sapnap's eyes twinkled. "Oh ho, you have no idea, do you?"

"No idea about what?"

"This is great!" Sapnap clapped his hands together, "Okay, so I have this theory I came up with about Borealis and Aurora after spying on them a little—"

"You were _spying_ on them?"

"Oh c'mon, not like _that,_ it's just whenever they were together in public I happened to notice a few things."

"...Sapnap."

"No, I'm serious! Like, I almost always see them in the Great Hall and sometimes in between classes. It's not like you have to go out of your way to run into teachers around here," Sapnap added with a roll of his eyes.

"Right…"

"Ugh, forget the whole spying thing and just answer this question: did you see how they left the Hospital Wing?"

"Um, together?"

"Together!" Sapnap cheered.

"Mr. Nappitus!" The matron cried, sliding the curtain open, "You are in a _heap_ of trouble, young man!"

"Shoot, I've been found out, gotta blast!" Sapnap declared, scrambling out of the hospital bed and throwing his sheets to the side, "I'll explain everything later!" 

With that, he dashed through the door and slammed it shut behind him before Abbott had the chance to add anything else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

George had never woken up from a devastating injury feeling so comfortable. 

Sure, his head was a bit fuzzy and his leg basically felt like a log, but he'd take feeling like a log over excruciating pain any day.

He blinked his eyes and sat up, stretching his arms over his head. The healing potions that Madame Abbott had given him had worked like…well, like _magic_. 

He’d known that wizards could heal minor injuries with spells practically instantly, but he hadn’t really been able to appreciate how effective magical healing was up until that moment. The potions didn’t just heal his broken leg — all of his minor bumps and injuries, ranging from the bruise he’d acquired when he tripped down the common room stairs a few days prior, to the cold sore on the inside of his cheek, had seemingly vanished. If it weren't for the numbingly heavy weight of his leg, he'd feel well enough to stand up and stroll right out of the infirmary.

He remembered how utterly mangled his leg had been the night before. With how foreign the limb felt, he'd be surprised if it was even still attached to his body. 

_Wait....Am I a magical amputee, now!?_ his mind questioned, panicked.

Suddenly filled with dread, George reached over and tore the sheet from his body in one swift motion. To his relief, his leg was still attached _and_ wasn’t bent the wrong way anymore. The second-year sighed and leaned back against the headboard.

A familiar voice disrupted him from his thoughts.

"So, you're awake now, are ya?"

Startled, George whipped his head in the direction of the sound, causing his cot to creak at the sudden movement. His head still felt a little fuzzy, so it took a few moments for him to register who the voice belonged to. 

"Whoa, there,” Philza chuckled. “I wouldn't move _too_ fast if I were you. Ya had to stay here overnight, after all."

Now that his eyes were more focused, George could see that the sixth-year had a textbook open on his lap. "Phil?” George asked, surprise coloring his tone. "What are you doing here?"

Philza smiled softly and leaned forward in his seat to ruffle the younger boy’s hair. “Come on now, George, I couldn’t _not_ come check on you after Eloise told me what happened. It’s a big deal when one of our students has to stay in the Hospital Wing overnight.”

George groaned at the mention of the quidditch captain, burying his head in his hands to hide his reddening cheeks. “How long have I been out?” he asked from in between his fingers. 

"I just said overnight, didn't I?" Philza asked, amused. "Oh, dear. Do we have to check your head again?"

"No, I mean...well yeah, I guess you _did_ say overnight, but what time is it now?"

Phil glanced up at a clock somewhere above George’s head before answering. "It’s a bit past one in the afternoon on a Sunday. Ya know, ya got a lotta visitors over your stay.”

“Did I?”

“Oh, yeah. All sortsa people came and went, but _that_ one didn’t leave once.” Phil nodded towards the other side of the room where George saw Dream snoring away in a plastic chair, head lolling back and mouth hanging open.

"That _can't_ be good for his neck…" George mumbled.

Phil snorted. " _You_ try tellin him that. I spoke to one of his roommates earlier when he stopped by to bring him breakfast. Turns out your friend’s a kicker _and_ a biter. Awful combo, but it proved highly effective in letting him stay here." The prefect shrugged, dog-earing the page he was on and slamming his textbook shut. "I'll go get Abbott for ya. She'll want to check you up now that you're awake." With that, the older boy slid the book onto George’s bedside and went off in search of the matron.

George spent a few more moments appraising Dream. He knew he should probably rouse the other boy to let him know that he was alright, but the blond just looked so...peaceful. The Slytherin’s hair was sticking up on one side from where he’d clearly been leaning his head against the wall as he slept, and the sight made George smile to himself.

Instead of waking his friend, the Ravenclaw turned his attention to the textbook Phil had left on his bedside table. Curious about what subjects the older boy would be taking at the N.E.W.T. level, George reached out and brought the book closer to his face so that he could read the title. 

His body froze. He felt his heart leap into his throat as it began beating faster in his chest. His hand shook as it hovered over the words printed on the front cover. 

_ᚪᛞvᚪᚾᚳᛖᛞ ᚱᚢᚾᛖ ᛏᚱᚪᚾᛋᛚᚪᛏᛁᚩᚾ: Advanced Anglo-Saxon Rune Translation._

Phil was studying Ancient Runes. Though George’s memory was admittedly a bit blurred, he _did_ remember Dream mentioning something about Selwyn Sr. corresponding with some colleagues in Runic. Of course, there were so many different Runic scripts in existence that the one Dream’s dad had been using might not even be _mentioned_ in a sixth-year textbook. Plus, there was the fact that the original source material had been confiscated. 

_But perhaps…_

“Dream!” George hissed at his sleeping friend. When the blond didn’t wake immediately, the Ravenclaw reached behind his back and tossed a pillow at the other boy’s head. 

Dream leapt out of his chair immediately and tumbled to the floor. “What?! Who’s there?!” the boy exclaimed, looking around frantically for an attacker. 

George rolled his eyes and shushed the Slytherin, causing his friend’s head to turn in his direction. The blond gasped and immediately rushed to the shorter boy’s bedside upon registering that he was awake.

“George! You’re up!” 

“Yes I am, you idiot, but I want you to—”

“I was so worried, Gogi!”

A part of George warmed at his friend’s concern. However, a larger part of George knew they didn’t have much time before Philza returned with Madame Abbott.

“Dream,” George said, giving the other boy a serious look. “Look at this textbook. Does the writing on the cover look familiar to you?”

Dream looked a bit puzzled at George’s tone, but he obediently glanced down at the book in the Ravenclaw’s hands. 

“Why do you want me to look at some textbook?” Dream asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes so he could get a clearer look at the cover. 

“ _Runes_ , Dream. Look at the runes. Do they look familiar?”

It took the taller boy several moments, but eventually Dream gasped and his eyes widened in recognition.

“Yes! Those are the ones Dad used!”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. I remember some of these sticks and squiggles.”

George smiled triumphantly at their good fortune. “We should put Philza’s textbook back on the table then, we'll talk about this later today once I get out of the Hospital Wing. There are probably several volumes in the library that we can—”

The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted George’s sentence, and the two boys were immediately reminded that their conversation would not be private for much longer. 

Dream nodded once, seemingly making up his mind about something. “Meet me in the library in an hour,” he whispered hurriedly to George before slipping the textbook under his robes and making a mad dash towards the door. 

“Dream, you can’t just _take_ Philza’s book! He needs it!” George called out after his friend. 

“It’s an emergency! Cover for me!”

“No, you _idiot—_ ”

George was cut off with a slam of the Hospital Wing door just as Philza and Madame Abbott turned the corner. The Ravenclaw prefect shot George a questioning glance.

“Where’d Selwyn run off to?” he asked, perplexed.

“Um...he had some...last minute assignment? That he just remembered?”

Phil raised an eyebrow. “...Really?”

George averted his eyes and shrugged while Madame Abbott bent down to inspect his leg. The matron prodded the limb a bit and instructed George to bend his knee and flex his foot. When the second-year proved capable of performing these basic movements, Madame Abbott gave a satisfied hum and told him to try walking. 

George hesitated at first, but soon stood up and took a few tentative steps forward. To his amazement, he felt no pain. The potions had accomplished overnight what would have taken Muggle doctors months. 

“How does it feel, Mr. Davidson?” 

George smiled at the question and jumped up and down experimentally. “It feels incredible, Madame Abbott. Thank you so much,” he thanked the matron earnestly. 

“Oh, now, no need to thank me. I was only doing my job, dear.”

“S-still. I can’t believe you healed me so quickly,” George stuttered. Madame Abbott seemed to find the response endearing.

“Don’t let me see you in here again, you hear?” she told him sternly as she collected the linens from his cot. George nodded.

“I promise I’ll try to stay out of trouble.”

“Speaking of trouble, George, where’s my Runes textbook?” 

Philza had his arms crossed and was staring pointedly at the bedside table his book had been on only minutes earlier. George swallowed nervously and racked his brain for a plausible explanation. He briefly considered making a run for it, but figured his leg wouldn't be able to handle the escape, no matter how good Abbott's potions were.

“Your silence is telling, Georgie. Was it Selwyn?”

“Um...maybe?” 

Philza sighed and ran a hand through his blond hair. “And _why_ exactly did he kidnap my Ancient Runes textbook?”

“W-well it's like I said, he uh… wanted to study, right?”

“I don't _know_ , that's why I asked you. Can ya respond my questions with a real answer now?”

“I— no.”

The prefect rolled his eyes and gave George a withering look. “Listen, I don’t care what kind of shenanigans you two are tryin to pull here, but couldya _at least_ get it to me by supper?”

“O-of course! I’ll ask him right now,” George promised. On that note, the second-year bade an awkward farewell to Madame Abbott and speed-limped out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Freshly showered and dressed, George wasted no time in heading to the library directly from Ravenclaw Tower. When the boy arrived, Dream was already sitting at one of the tables along the back wall, poring over the stolen Runes textbook and scribbling notes on a piece of parchment.

“You’re using a pen.” George remarked, plopping himself into the seat across from his friend. Dream was so focused on his task that he didn’t even look up from his notes. 

“Mmhmm. Took one of Techno’s.”

When Dream said nothing further about what he was doing, George leaned over the table to catch a glimpse of the other boy’s parchment.

“Geo- _orge_ , stop it,” Dream whined, swatting the Ravenclaw away. 

“Can I see?”

“Gimme a minute.”

Another minute passed in silence while Dream’s eyes scanned the pages of the textbook, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Idly, George noticed that Dream had a habit of biting his bottom lip while he worked. 

Eventually, the Slytherin put down his stolen pen and shook his head a few times, as if to clear it. “I can’t remember all of the runes, but they were definitely Anglo-Saxon,” he said at last.

“That’s a good start,” George said with a nod. 

“One thing I _do_ remember,” Dream continued, “is the letter ‘k.’ It was the first letter of the heading at the top of the list.”

“Like, the first rune?”

Dream shook his head. “No, the first _letter_. I thought it was weird that all of the letters were in Runic except for the first one, but look at what it says here.” Dream slid the open textbook across the table for George to read.

_The Futhork Alphabet consisted of thirty-three runes used by Saxon wizards in the fourth through seventh centuries. These thirty-three runes along with their modern transcriptions can be found on page 184 at the back of this book. It should be noted that the sixth rune in the Futhork Alphabet, ᚳ (ken), fell out of use during the sixth century when wizards began to use the Latin k in order to avoid persecution by Christian Muggles. See Chapter Fourteen for further historical notes._

“So...they stopped using the Runic letter ‘k?’” George asked once he finished reading.

Dream nodded and flipped to another page in the book. “You don’t have to read it all ‘cuz it’s super boring, but basically the Saxon Muggles started associating that specific rune with ‘evil spirits’ and decided to start burning anyone who continued to write with it. So the wizards just started using the Latin letter instead.”

“So then it makes sense that your father’s note had the letter ‘k’ in it. They were just using a later version of the Futhork Alphabet!”

“Exactly,” Dream stated. 

“That’s awesome, Dream, but it’s only one single letter. How on earth are we going to decode the rest of the note when we don’t even _have_ the original source anymore?”

In lieu of a response, the blond boy slid his piece of parchment across the table. George squinted at the notes, trying to make sense of the symbols he saw scrawled hastily in smudged blue ink. 

kᚾ__ᚾ ᚠᛁᚱᛋᛏ-____ ________ᛋ

“What’s this?” the Ravenclaw asked, confused.

“So basically,” Dream started to explain, pointing the tip of his wand at the characters he’d written on the paper, “I remembered that the second letter was a weird sideways ‘x.’ When I checked the textbook, I realized that it’s actually a Runic ‘n.”

“Okay…”

“And the other thing I remembered was _this_ ,” Dream continued, shifting his wand so that it was directly underneath five particular symbols. “What does that look like it says to you, George?”

George squinted and considered the symbols before him once more. 

_ᚠᛁᚱᛋᛏ_

“Um, I don’t know much Runic, Dream.”

Dream rolled his eyes and sighed exasperatedly. “For a Ravenclaw, you really can be pretty dumb. You don’t need Runic, you dimwit. What English letters do they look like?”

After a few seconds, it clicked. “Oh!” George gasped. “F-I-R-S-T. First?”

Dream had an excited glint in his eye now. “ _Yes._ I remembered thinking that the symbols looked kinda like the word ‘first,’ so I checked the textbook—”

“—and those are the actual Runic characters!” George finished.

“Precisely. And what did the names on that list all have in common?”

George’s eyes widened as he made the connection moments later. “We’re all second-years, which means that we were all first-years last year.”

“Yep! So if those five letters say _F-I-R-S-T_ , then—”

“—the four letters _after_ the hyphen probably spell out _Y-E-A-R_!”

George picked up the pen and hurriedly found a blank space on the parchment. There, underneath Dream’s Runic, he wrote some additional notes.

_KN--N FIRST-YEAR --------S_

“Ugh, I feel like we’re _so_ close to figuring this out,” Dream mumbled, his gaze fixed on the piece of parchment. 

“We are, I think. I reckon we just need to think about what that nine-letter word ending with an ‘s’ could be.”

The two boys sat in silence, thinking. 

“Hey, Dream,” George said after a few minutes, “do you remember all of the names on that list?”

“Um…” the other boy said, tapping his chin with the tip of his wand in thought. “There were six, I think. You, Karl, Techno, a girl from Gryffindor…”

“Wait, wait, let me write these down.” George flipped the parchment over and began to scribble down the names. “Which girl from Gryffindor?”

“Ackerman, I think. Her name’s Abigail or something? I don’t talk to Gryffindor, much.”

“Oh and what am I? Chopped dragon liver?” George heard someone sniff over his shoulder. 

The two second-years shared an exasperated knowing look as Sapnap pulled up a chair and made himself comfortable at their library table. Without even asking, the Gryffindor boy picked up the textbook and flipped through a few of the pages. 

“Ancient Runes? You guys can’t even take this class until next year,” he remarked as his eyes scanned a few of the diagrams. “What are we studying these for?”

“ _We_ ,” Dream snapped, nodding between George and himself as he snatched the textbook back from the first-year, “were kind of in the middle of something.”

Sapnap shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “Don’t let me stop you, then.”

Dream looked like he was about to say something else, but George silenced him with a look that said _it’s not worth it_. 

“Just keep going, Dream. Who else?” the Ravenclaw pressed. 

“Karl’s roommate was on there...the Baratashvili kid. Oh, and a Ravenclaw girl. Zakarian.”

Once George finished writing down all of the names, the three boys looked at the list with pensive expressions on their faces. 

“Oh, this is about those attacks that happened before I came to Hogwarts, right?” 

“ _Shhh_ , Sapnap, we’re thinking,” George muttered. 

“Well...whoever did the attacks is a big coward,” Sapnap said, ignoring the irritated look George shot him. “Who goes after defenseless first-years?”

“Someone weak,” Dream said. “Someone who isn’t a capable enough wizard to target older students.”

“Wait...are you suggesting this was a student?” George asked.

“I mean...you’d think that an adult wouldn’t _need_ to only go after first-years.”

Something else dawned on George, then. “Wait...Techno’s attack happened on the night of your duel.”

“Yeah.”

“So who would have known that the duel was taking place that night?”

Sapnap’s eyes widened and he nearly jumped out of his seat. “ _Oh_ man! You’re saying one of your buddies is the attacker?”

George nodded and scribbled some more notes down on the scrap of parchment. “Think about it. Who did we tell about the duel?”

“Everyone who was at the table when I challenged him,” Dream replied. “So...me, you, Wilbur, Eret…”

“Did you tell anyone else? Your roommates, maybe?”

“Bad helped me train for it, so he knew. And, yeah, I mentioned it to Schlatt and GB80 so they could cover for me if any of the prefects performed a room check.”

“You guys, these names might not _mean_ anything. You do know that the people on the list could have spread the word, right? Slytherins gossip like old ladies,” Sapnap reminded the older boys.

“That’s true…” George muttered, mentally trying to put together the puzzle pieces. _But it's still a lead,_ he decided, filing the list of suspects for later. “Well, what else do the people on this hit list have in common, other than all being in the same year?”

“Uh…well, none of them are Slytherins,” Sapnap pointed out. 

“C’mon, Sap, an attacker wouldn’t care about something as dumb as a Hogwarts House.”

“Hey, I only said it ‘cause George asked!”

“It’s something more sinister than that,” Dream asserted. His expression darkened, then, and he looked at George seriously. “George, I think you know what I mean.”

George _did_ know. The troubled history of blood status in the magical world was not something anyone could forget; after all, prejudice against Muggle-borns was the main reason for two major wizarding wars. So, with a grimace, the Ravenclaw nodded and put the pen to parchment once more. 

“I’m Muggle-born,” he said, making a note next to his name. “So is Karl.”

“And Techno,” Dream added.

“Techno isn’t—”

“His only magical parent was, so he _basically_ is, George.”

George pursed his lips and scribbled a similar note next to Techno’s name. “What about Abigail Ackerman? I know next to nothing about the Gryffindors in our year.”

“She isn’t Muggle-born,” Sapnap informed them, “but both of her parents are. My dad is friends with them.”

“See? Another one,” Dream said. 

“She grew up with magic, though. How could _anyone_ call her Muggle-born?”

“It’s not about the magic, George.”

“Then what _is_ it about, Dream?”

“Just note it down. Trust me.”

Frustrated as he was by his friend’s line of reasoning, George made another note beside the name _Ackerman_ and turned his attention to the two remaining names on the list.

“Zakarian’s Muggle-born. I know that for sure,” George said.

“And Baratashvili’s also Muggle-born. I talk to him sometimes when I eat at the Hufflepuff table,” Dream stated.

“So...it’s clear that everyone on the list is of Muggle descent,” George acknowledged. “But even if the attacks _were_ a racist thing, that doesn’t tell us what the nine-letter word ending with ‘s’ is.”

“Try ‘Muggle-borns,’” Sapnap suggested. 

George wrote the word down and quickly shook his head. “That’s eleven letters.”

“Well, maybe they used the American term. Try ‘No-Maj-borns.’”

“That’s one letter too many, Sapnap. Guys, maybe this isn’t a racist thing after all," George added hurriedly, not wanting to face the implications of what Dream had suggested. "The missing word could be a word like ‘beginners,’ or maybe even something like—”

“Oh, gimme the pen, Gogi,” Dream cut in, snatching the pen from his friend’s hand and writing something else down.

“What are you—”

The words quickly died in George’s throat once he registered what Dream had written. 

There, in Dream’s barely legible chicken scratch, was the ugliest nine-letter word George had ever seen.

_MUDBLOODS._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be trying to use Tumblr more, so say hi to me there if you want! kangarooken.tumblr.com
> 
> According to AO3 statistics, only a small percentage of readers actually leave kudos. If you enjoyed this update, please consider leaving kudos and a comment. It's free, anonymous, and it lets us know you want us to keep writing!
> 
> See you guys next time! Much love!


	11. Chapter Eleven || Year Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George, Dream, and Sapnap try to narrow down the suspects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, we coded is so that Gra55 is insane and writes 8K+ words in a day. This took forever to edit because it is a THICC chapter. Go give Gra55 a lot of love in the comments because they helped me take this story from a little itty bitty idea to something epic. With that being said...enjoy the update!

All three members of the trio were visibly tense come dinner. 

The first thing George did was return Philza’s textbook. The prefect had good-naturedly accepted both the book and a muttered apology before waving the second-year off. Upon returning to the Ravenclaw table, George sandwiched himself between Sapnap and Dream, the former of whom was shooting suspicious glances at every other second-year in the vicinity.

Once George had finished piling his plate full of pasta, Wilbur brought him into the conversation with a question.

"George, mate, you're back! How's the leg doing?" Wilbur asked.

"It’s fine," George murmured, shrugging. It was rather difficult to make small talk when all he could think about were runes and racial slurs.

Wilbur tilted his head and shot him a concerned look. "Well, that doesn't _sound_ fine, Gogi. What's the matter? Is Abbott slacking?"

"N-no!” George stuttered. “She did a great job! Sorry, I'm just—"

"—still high off of the potion effects," Sapnap cut in, shooting George an embarrassing attempt at an inconspicuous wink, " _Right,_ George?"

Dream sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation at the first-year’s utter lack of subtlety.

"Erm, yeah, that's it…" George replied.

"That makes sense," Wilbur nodded, spearing a piece of steak with his fork. "We've been so worried about you, you know? We wanted to keep you company, so we tried to arrange a sleepover in the Hospital Wing last night. Can you believe Abbott kicked us out?"

" _After_ we dragged all our bed sheets across the entire castle!" Eret cried. "Wilbur and I had to carry all the linens and pillows back up to Ravenclaw Tower _without help_ ," he added, glaring pointedly at Techno.

"What’re you lookin’ at me for? I have an injury," he responded, not bothering to look up from his plate.

" _What_ injury?! Nothing even _touched you_ during the tryouts!"

"First of all, not true. That one bludger Dream's roommate buddy smacked in my direction almost made my broom explode—"

"It only brushed the back of it." Wilbur snorted.

"Wilbur, I was the one on the broom. I think I’d know. It was makin’ those 'I'm about to explode' noises, okay? I'm a professional, don't question me."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Good. _Second_ of all, I can't believe you would just forget about my trauma like that, Eret. Here I was thinkin’ we were friends. Friends don't forget each other's traumatic experiences, okay? _Especially_ if they were involved in ‘em."

Eret stared back at the other Ravenclaw with wide eyes. "I— I genuinely have no idea what you're talking about—"

"The _stab wound_ , Eret. From when someone _stabbed_ me with a _knife_. You know, the night you were stunned when you were tryin’ to follow me down the stairs?"

"Wh— that was a YEAR AGO!" Eret cried.

"Not yet, technically. And that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt anymore." Techno rolled his eyes.

"Are you seriously going to sit here and tell me that a stab wound you got one year ago—"

"It hasn't been a year yet—"

" _One_ _year ago,_ that was healed with _magical potions,_ was _sooo_ painful that you couldn't help me and Wilbur carry the sheets back to our dorm room last night?"

"....yeah."

"No!"

Techno shrugged and took a sip of pumpkin juice. "Sometimes old injuries flare up. That's just how they work." 

"Only injuries left with _dark magic_. Not ordinary stab wounds that have been healed with potions," Wilbur cut in, elbowing the other boy in the ribs. "That's one of the first things we learned, Techno! What happened to the genius who scored the highest marks in DADA last year?”

Techno scrunched his eyebrows together, seeming to mull over the information, "I, uh… we _did_ learn that, didn't we?"

"Pfft, yeah, we did. Can't use the stab wound excuse anymore, mate."

"I guess not…" he trailed off, seemingly thinking. "It really _does_ flare up sometimes, though," he added, rubbing the site of his old injury.

" _Sure_ it does," Wilbur rolled his eyes and patted his roommate on the back. "I can’t believe I had the _audacity_ to ask you for help carrying blankets when your booboo from last year still causes you such excruciating pain." 

Techno grumbled something under his breath that George couldn’t quite hear and shoved a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. Before George could contribute anything else to his roommate’s conversation, however, Sapnap elbowed him in the ribs.

“ _Ow,_ what’s wrong with you?” the Ravenclaw hissed, wincing.

Instead of apologizing, Sapnap merely pointed towards the High Table at the back of the Great Hall. 

“Look over there,” the first-year whispered. 

George followed the younger boy’s line of sight until his gaze rested on two of their professors eating dinner. Failing to see anything out of the ordinary, the Ravenclaw raised an eyebrow at his friend.

“What am I looking at, exactly?”

On George’s other side, Dream facepalmed. 

“Ugh, don’t listen to him, Gogi. Sapnap has this stupid theory about—”

“It’s _totally_ true and you know it, Dream. Just _look_ at them,” the Gryffindor insisted.

George was still a bit lost. “Can one of you just tell me what we’re looking at?”

“Aurora and Borealis,” Dream supplied with an eye roll. 

“They’ve _totally_ got the hots for each other. It’s so obvious. Look at the way Aurora is twirling her hair.”

“She’s tying it up, you dimwit. That’s what people with long hair do.”

George squinted and focused on the professors once more. The two women looked to be pleasantly chatting over dinner. George watched as Professor Travers laughed at something Professor Borealis said before taking a sip from her goblet. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, the Ravenclaw turned back to his friends’ squabble. 

“—and she’s doing it so _flirtatiously!_ ” 

“What does a ‘flirtatious’ ponytail even look like, Sapnap?”

“Like _that!_ Right, George? Tell me you see it.”

George shook his head, prompting Sapnap to groan. 

“You two are _blind_. I mean, not seeing colors is one thing, but not seeing love when it’s right in front of you?”

George and Dream shared an exasperated look at their friend’s rant and resumed eating.

“Hey, Techno!” a voice called out from George’s left. Turning his head, his eyes landed on a familiar pair of red and yellow eyes. 

“Gémure-Boye,” Techno acknowledged with the tiniest nod.

“Didn’t get the chance to congratulate you on making Chaser! The whole team pulled me away there at the end because, you know, I was _kinda_ the mvp.” The Slytherin remarked, tossing his black and white fringe, “That final game got preeeeetty intense, huh?”

“For you, maybe.”

“Oh, no, not for me, I was doing great! Hardly broke a sweat. I did notice _you_ shaking in your boots at my bludgers though.” He smirked, “C’mon, aren’t you gonna be a good sport and congratulate me back?”

Techno raised an eyebrow and gave the boy an appraising look, “....Sorry, who are you again?”

“ _Wow_. And to think I targeted you.” GB80 tsked, folding his arms across his chest as he tried to mask a small smile with the shake of his head.

For the first time since his injury, it occurred to George to ask about the results of the tryouts. He turned to look at his best friend, who was pushing the food around on his plate absently. 

“Dream?”

“Yeah?”

“How did the rest of tryouts go?” George asked in a quiet voice. Dream shrugged.

“I don’t know. I didn’t stay for Phase Two.”

“Oh,” George said, touching the other boy on the arm comfortingly. “That’s alright. Lots of other people were eliminated in the first round too.”

When Dream looked down at George’s hand on his arm quizzically, the Ravenclaw paused and went over their conversation in his head. _He didn’t stay for Phase Two, so he must’ve been eliminated after my accident, right?_

Seeing the confusion in his friend’s eyes, Dream shook his head and began to explain. “I wasn’t eliminated, George. I was disqualified.”

“Disqualified?" George puzzled, "For _what_? Did you cheat or something?”

Dream pulled back his arm away at that, looking affronted. “Cheat? Gosh, no. Why does everyone always think Slytherins are cheaters?”

Sapnap snorted, then, and Dream sent the younger boy a glare.

“Got something to say, Sappy?”

“Nope, nope, don’t mind me. Carry on,” the Gryffindor got out, nearly choking on his food. “Can’t imagine why anyone would think Slytherins cheat.”

“ _Anyways_ ,” Dream huffed, returning his attention to George. “Anyone who leaves the pitch mid-tryouts is automatically disqualified. So...yeah.”

“But why would you— _oh_!” George cut off as it dawned on him what Dream had done. “You mean...you left tryouts because of me? Because I...fell?”

“Duh." The Slytherin rolled his eyes, snorting, "I couldn’t just _not_ check on you.”

“B-but...Dream, you _idiot_! You could have made the team!”

“There’s always next year." He shrugged, "And besides, you're more important than the team, anyways."

"Woah woah woah, let's calm down here, okay?" GB80 cut in, having overheard their conversation. "He's just a human being with, like, a life and a purpose or whatever. That's _nothing_ compared to whacking balls very hard at people."

"Or flyin’ fast on brooms," Techno added.

" _Exactly_." The Slytherin nodded, "Gosh, imagine thinking people are worth more than quidditch."

George sighed and rolled his eyes at the two, “Wow, you guys are so right, I could never. Dream's just an idiot who values human life, next time remember that I'm worthless and sports are more important, okay?”

"What _ever_ ," Dream muttered as the two quidditch players snickered at George's response.

"It's like I always say, perfect dives over human lives." Techno said solemnly.

Wilbur's fork clattered onto his plate as he choked on his food and Eret rushed to slap him on the back.

"Oh my gosh, that was perfect!" GB80 cried, "Wait— wait! I have a good one," he coughed out, wiping the tears out of his eyes, "Faster broom to escape the tomb!"

"Learn to fly before you die."

The two cackled at their stupid rhymes, trying to one up each others phrases and only succeeding in making themselves laugh harder. 

Wilbur cast a concerned glance between the quidditch players, shooting a questioning look at Eret, who simply shrugged.

George put on a small smile at their antics, taking another sip of his drink, hoping to mask the lingering guilt he felt over Dream’s revelation. 

He _knew_ that his miserable experience trying out for quidditch was a complete accident. He knew that he would have left the pitch in a heartbeat had Dream gotten so severely injured, no matter _how_ much more important quidditch was than his friend being alive. Yet there was still a nagging voice in his head saying that Dream’s disqualification was all George’s fault.

“Hey,” Dream said softly, nudging his friend and snapping him out of his thoughts. “You’re not worthless, you know.” 

When George met his best friend’s eyes, they were open and earnest. He felt his face warm at the intensity of the other boy’s gaze. 

“I know,” he replied, voice barely above a whisper. 

Dream beamed and leaned in to mess up George’s hair, much to the shorter boy’s annoyance. “Good,” the Slytherin said loudly once George’s hair was utterly tousled. “We love you, George!”

Several other people at their table made similar declarations, except gor the quidditch players who shouted something along the lines of "Being in action over human interaction!"

George buried his face in his hands, trying to hide his blush from the sudden attention. He couldn't be more grateful when the time finally came to retreat to the peace and quiet of his common room. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


The second-years fell back into comfortable routines once the excitement of quidditch tryouts had passed. Or, at least, the _other_ second-years did.

For Dream and George, the weeks that followed were anything _but_ normal. The same went for Sapnap, who rarely left the second-years’ sides. 

The three boys began spending more and more time in the Hogwarts Library, their table always piled suspiciously high with random books to hide a gut-wrenching list of suspects. In spite of the evidence the trio had gathered, George struggled to accept the idea that _any_ of his friends could be pureblood supremacists, let alone that they could be _violent_ ones. The concept was impossible to wrap his head around. But every time he started to think that just _maybe_ there was a different explanation for the hit list, the facts of the matter stared him in the face.

It _had_ to be one of their friends. 

Dream had taken it upon himself to interrogate Schlatt immediately after they had translated the runes. From what the blond told George afterwards, Schlatt had sworn he’d kept Dream and Techno’s ill-fated duel a secret, and had also insisted that GB80 didn’t tell anyone, either. When Dream wouldn’t stop asking if the other boy was _absolutely sure_ no one else knew about the duel, Schlatt threatened to send an expository howler on the matter to every single person in the castle. Dream left him alone after that.

So that is how the three of them wound up spending another fall weekend sitting around a library table, staring at their list of suspects with feelings of dread and no clue how on earth they were going to weed out the traitor.

"Maybe your roommate was lying?" Sapnap hypothesized, glancing at his friends’ consternated expressions.

"Why would he, though?" Dream questioned, sighing. "Don’t get me wrong, I _wish_ he could be lying. If he was, we could blame someone else for all this stuff. But Schlatt isn't exactly... the lying type."

Sapnap scoffed at the statement. "Not the—! Dream, this is the same kid who tried to _poison_ me and Ponk with jelly beans on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of the year! Schlatt is _exactly_ the type of person to lie."

Dream shook his head. "No. He ca—he _doesn't_ lie. He just doesn't. Yeah, he's the type to twist his words and work with technicalities, but he doesn't _do_ lying.”

“But the _beans_ , Dream! The beans!” Sapnap insisted.

“Even with the whole bean thing he didn't _lie_ ! He said he had a sixth sense, which was true. He said that no bean would hurt _George_ , which was also true. Then he spouted some B.S. about feeling like he was 'close to you' or something, which was _technically_ true ‘cuz the compartment was fairly small, so...."

Sapnap huffed, unimpressed. "Okay, so he's a manipulator, not a liar. Cool. But just ‘cause he didn’t lie on the train doesn’t mean he isn’t lying _now_." 

"Sapnap, he said, and I quote, 'I never told anybody about it.' There's no way to work around that, is there?" Dream demanded.

"....I guess not.”

“Exactly.”

“So…” Sapnap trailed off, looking dejected. “That means it really _is_ one of our buddies, huh."

"It's gotta be."

"Well, maybe one of the Raven-nerds told other people!"

"First of all, it’s _Ravenclaws_ ," George corrected with an eye roll. "Second, Wilbur and Eret _really_ didn't want to get Techno and Dream in trouble for the duel, remember? I know you weren’t here last year, Sapnap, but McGonagall questioned them after Techno was attacked, and they didn’t say a word about the duel to her."

"Besides,” Dream added, “We can't start interrogating every single person on our suspect list. They'll be on to us."

"Wilbur and Eret lying to McGonagall feels...kinda irresponsible, but I guess they’re sorta in the clear for that one…" Sapnap trailed off, looking hesitant. "I—I hate to ask this, but what about….you know."

"What?"

"Don't make me say it, Dream," Sapnap whined. "He's like, the nicest guy to ever exist, but—"

"It's _not_ Bad." Dream snapped, voice cold. "In fact," the Slytherin clicked his pen and pointedly scribbled all over the third-year’s name until it was unrecognizable. "There. He's not even on the list."

"That's just not fair."

"Are you _seriously_ suggesting we keep him on the list, Sapnap?!"

"Dream,” George cut in, “I know this sounds, well, ‘bad,’ but…he's the only one on our list that would be strong enough to easily subdue a first-year. Plus, he _did_ know Karl’s schedule…"

"I can't _believe_ what I'm hearing from you guys right now. _Bad_ ? The Hufflepuff? The one who flinches every time an older student cusses? The one who is literally _terrified_ that Skeppy's pranks are gonna end up killing him?! You think _he's_ the bigoted hate-crimer?!"

"Okay, riddle me _this_ Dream!” Sapnap challenged, standing up, “What kind of ELEVEN-YEAR-OLD is a bigoted hate-crimer?!" He banged his fists on the table, shaking the stacks of books around them. 

Dream offered no response, his eyes remaining downcast.

"Look at me! Huh?! _Tell me_ ! Nothing about this situation makes sense, okay?! We're just _kids_ ! We're kids trying to figure out which one of our other kid friends is a racist, lying, _traitor_ who attacks and maims people off of a HIT LIST!"

A wave of angry, silencing _shhhh_ s echoed back at them in response. George shot the other library occupants an apologetic look as he pulled Sapnap back down by his robes and forced the first-year back into his seat.

" _Keep it down,_ " he hissed at him.

"This is so, _so_ unfair," Sapnap whispered, his voice cracking, "We— we shouldn't have to be doing something like this...."

George sighed sympathetically, wrapping an arm around Sapnap's shoulder. The first-year leaned into the touch gratefully, trembling slightly as he did so. 

_It really_ isn't _fair_ , George realized, looking down at the younger boy, _especially to Sapnap_. The Gryffindor had nothing to do with this whole situation and yet he'd thrown himself headfirst into the investigation. Sapnap didn't care about how dangerous their investigation was; he cared about fighting for his friends and standing up for what he believed was right. He truly _was_ brave.

Dream's shoulders sagged as he stared silently at the list, as though he could intimidate it into revealing the name of the traitor. After several moments, the Slytherin swallowed audibly and shakily wrote Bad's name down on the parchment once more.

"This is so messed up," he whispered, voice wavering.

"This is the _most_ messed up thing _ever_ ," Sapnap agreed, wiping his face with a nod as he leaned out of George's hug. "But what do we do from here?"

"I guess we just have to...follow people around?" George suggested with a shrug.

"You want us to stalk our friends until we figure out which one of them is a racist traitor?" 

"Stop phrasing it like that, Dream, I don't like it either!" George cried, clenching his fists. "This whole thing is wrong to the trillionth degree, but do you have any better ideas!?"

Dream sighed, clicking the pen in exasperation, "I….no."

"That's it, then. We're just going to have to... _stalk_ our friends. If we see anyone do something suspicious, we move their name up higher on the list. If anyone does something that proves they’re innocent, we cross them off."

The boys stared at the wretched list one final time before Dream folded it up and shoved it into his pocket.

"I hate this. I hate this so much," he grumbled.

George gritted his teeth and nodded. Words couldn’t express how much he agreed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since that initial meeting, George tried to maintain some sense of normalcy in his schedule. He studied with his roommates every weekend and laughed with his friends over meals in the Great Hall, but that was about as close to normal as he could get. 

Between staying up late until well after his roommates were asleep and waking up earlier than all of them, George felt like the bags under his eyes weighed more than all of his textbooks combined. 

He hated the way that panic seized him every time one of his friends excused themselves during class, hated the way he paid too much attention to where they were at all times. More than that, he hated the way weeks had gone by without a single name moving up or down the list.

The feeling of being unable to rely on the people he had grown so close to over the past year was killing him slowly every day. 

The trio had assigned each other separate roles in their investigation. George’s job was to be the first to walk into every class to ensure that no one tried anything suspicious before the lessons started. Dream’s job was to be the last person out the door. If anyone failed to show up to class, Dream would excuse himself to the toilet and track the missing person down. So far, the arrangement had lost Slytherin many house points for tardiness and landed Dream in multiple detentions, but the blond refused to let up on his duties.

That was why Dream was especially annoyed one Wednesday morning when a prefect caught him loitering in the halls and escorted him back to class _three whole minutes_ before the lesson was due to start. George was already in his seat when his friend walked in, so the Ravenclaw was able to watch with amusement as Dream greeted the professor stiffly and took his seat.

“Stupid frickin prefects, always ruining stuff,” the blond muttered under his breath. “And Sapnap said the Gryffindor kids were supposed to be _chill_. Stuck-up tattletales.”

George sighed and turned to pull out some parchment before class began, not wanting to feed into Dream's anti-prefect ideals. Just when he finished arranging his ink bottle and quills on his desk, the classroom doors creaked open, revealing an anxious looking Eret. The boy shut the door quietly behind him and shuffled over to their professor at the front of the class.

Dream quirked an eyebrow in George's direction, a silent question in his eyes.

Eret cleared his throat. “Professor Flitwick, can I uh—" he glanced up at Dream and George, who were both trying their hardest to look like they were minding their own business, before lowering his voice, "may I have a word?”

George stared at the parchment in front of him intently as Dream stretched and craned his neck to listen in on the conversation. They watched from the corners of their eyes as Eret pulled out a book and pointed to one of the paragraphs. Professor Flitwick adjusted his spectacles and squinted at the tiny print. 

“Well, Mr. Eretson,” George heard his Head of House say, “the Disillusionment Charm isn’t part of the second-year curriculum. The charm is much too advanced, you see. You will learn it in time for your O.W.L.s, though, I assure you!”

" _O.W.L.s?_ You mean we won’t learn it until _fifth year_?!" Eret spluttered, "That's a...that's a long time, I nee— I want to learn it as soon as possible! Is there any way I can prove to you that I'm ready to learn it now?"

Professor Flitwick shook his head and smiled. "I'm sorry, my dear boy, but I am not permitted to teach you this charm before the curriculum requires you to know it. I sure do love the Ravenclaw enthusiasm, however!"

Eret glanced up at Dream and George, who were positioned at odd angles so as to listen in on the conversation. Sighing, he closed the textbook and tucked it under his arm. "Thanks anyway, Professor."

"Of course! And please don't hesitate to ask me any other questions regarding _this_ year's curriculum, should you ever find the need to do so."

Eret nodded glumly and dragged his feet over to his desk to begin preparing for class.

A loud _thunk_ came from beside George, then, and his head snapped in the direction of the sound to see that Dream had pulled out his own textbook and was quickly rifling through its pages. 

George glanced over at Eret, but the boy seemed to be too put-out to notice their weird behavior.

"Here!" Dream whisper-shouted to him, slamming his finger onto the page and gesturing for George to come look. George leaned over and began to read the text.

  
  


_The Disillusionment Charm (incantation: ɪˈluʒi’oʊ) is a concealment charm that disguises a target as its surroundings. The target takes on the exact color and texture of its environment, effectively turning it into a chameleon._

  
  


“I _know_ what a Disillusionment Charm is, Dream,” George whispered once he finished reading the paragraph.

“Right, but why does Eret need to know it so bad?” Dream hissed back. 

George’s eyes widened as he realized what Dream was implying. “You mean…”

Without another word, Dream withdrew the suspect list from the inside of his robes and hurriedly dipped a quill in ink. His friend scribbled something down at the bottom of the parchment before passing the note surreptitiously to George for him to read.

_Big sus list:_

  * _Eret_



  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eret's strange behavior seemed to spark a chain reaction. Suddenly, every one of their friends seemed to take it upon themselves to act as suspiciously as possible in front of George and Dream. What was once a straightforward two man job soon became a full-blown game of hide and seek. 

Wilbur and Eret stopped attending their weekend study sessions, leaving George and Techno alone together in the library on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. If that wasn’t odd enough, Techno suddenly seemed to have forgotten all the magical theory he’d ever learned in class, meaning George was stuck re-teaching course material in the library until curfew. 

Every time George questioned Techno about their other roommates' disappearance, the other boy just stared back at him in confusion and then changed the subject. 

"Wilbur? Eret? Well, they definitely aren't _here_ ," he’d say, furrowing his eyebrows. "They're probably just busy. Hey, can you gimme a rundown on Professor Binns’ last lecture? Preferably with, uh, as many details as possible?”

A week before Halloween, George met up with Dream after a study session to talk about progress. 

“Anything new? Eret and Wilbur weren’t in the library again,” George said quietly, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. 

Dream sighed and shook his head. “No. Still can’t find them.”

“What about your Housemates? Are any of the Slytherins acting odd?”

“Nope. They’re the only ones who _haven’t_ been doing anything suspicious.”

George snorted. “That’s ironic.”

“Yeah,” Dream acknowledged, biting his lip. “I worry about you, though. It means you’re probably sleeping in the same room as the traitor.”

It became much harder for George to fall asleep at night, after that. 

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


Six days before the end of October, Bad began receiving packages in the Great Hall. 

George brushed them off, at first; it wasn’t weird for people to receive mail, after all. However, George grew suspicious when he noticed that the Hufflepuff boy kept receiving multiple packages _every single day_ and wouldn’t answer any of Dream’s questions on the matter. 

Dream and George could do nothing but watch as more and more packages arrived each day. With every new parcel Bad received, George’s dread intensified.

Bad wasn’t the only one acting odd, however. Three days before the end of October, Wilbur did something that George found _terrifying_. 

It was the middle of the night. George was still wide awake when he heard shuffling sounds coming from one side of their room. When the shuffling turned to the sound of approaching footsteps, George snapped his eyes shut and fought to to keep his breathing level.

He sensed a figure stop at the foot of his bed. Feeling as though his heart was about to beat out of his chest, George couldn’t help but stiffen when he felt a hand reach out and pat him lightly on the head.

"Good Gogi," a voice beside him whispered. 

George’s heart skipped a beat. He recognized that whisper. 

He waited until he was sure the figure was turned away from him, then cracked his eyes open in time to see the person stumble over to the door and exit their room.

George was on his feet before he fully knew what he was doing. He tip-toed down the stairs as quickly as he could, but he still wasn’t fast enough to confront the person before they’d successfully managed to flee the common room.

Suddenly, a voice from behind him made George’s heart leap into his throat. 

"And what are _you_ doin' up so late, eh?"

George spun around to face the new person. "I— Philza?" he choked out, eyes widening in surprise. "What are _you_ doing here?!"

The prefect raised an eyebrow. "Uh, I live here? Imagine my surprise when I return from night patrols only to hear someone sneaking out of bed minutes later. You go sprintin’ down the staircase and didn't think anyone'd hear you?"

"Wh— that wasn't me! That was Wilbur! He snuck out just now! I was trying to stop him, Phil!"

Philza snorted. "Right. So Wilbur walked out, you saw him, and tried to stop him all the way out here instead of back in your dorm room?"

"...yes."

"Ah ha,” Phil said sarcastically. “And _where_ is the little late night adventurer now, might I ask?"

George shuffled his feet before muttering, "He left."

"Oh did he?"

"Look, come see for yourself! His bed is empty!"

"No no, I believe ya, this whole story is _totally_ plausible and not at all suspicious-soundin."

"Really?" George asked hopefully.

"No. Go to bed."

"But, Wilbur—"

"Will be found by Filch if he really _is_ out there. Go to sleep, George. I'm tired."

With one final glance at the common room door, George sighed and dragged his feet back up to his dorm room. He cringed when he saw Wilbur’s empty bed. 

_Wilbur._ The mere idea of sunny, smiley, pen-obsessed Wilbur being a Muggle-born-hating terrorist seemed absurd. 

But, then again...weren’t all of the suspects absurd?

Sleep didn’t come easily for George that night. He stared absently at his ceiling until exhaustion finally overtook him. 

When he was on the edge of unconsciousness, the wind howling outside his window took on Wilbur’s voice. 

_Sweet dreams, Gogi_ , it whispered to him as he drifted off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the morning of Halloween, neither Dream nor George could find any of their friends in the Great Hall. They searched every single table for their usual lunch buddies before Schlatt waved them over to the Slytherin side of the Hall with a grin.

"Davidson! Dream-boat! Get over here!"

That was how George ended up eating breakfast at the Slytherin table.

"Eyy, it’s the boys!” Schlatt cheered once they were all seated. “How are ya doing on this fine morning?"

"Well, half our grade has gone missing," Dream replied, nodding over to the other tables.

"Aw yeah? That's weird. I was thinkin that you two looked lost out there."

"I think they're _still_ lost," a girl grumbled beside Schlatt.

"Ah, shut it, Minx. Don't you have to go make someone else's life miserable?"

"You're doing my job _for_ me with _your_ ugly face!" she spat in reply.

Schlatt rolled his eyes and speared a piece of fruit with his fork. "Yeah, yeah. I think your looks might be rubbin off on me. You’re a hazard."

“Aren’t you the same bastard that almost threw me into the _fireplace_ last year?!”

“S’not _my_ fault you’re built like that, _Log_!”

The two bickering Slytherins locked eyes for a silent, tense moment. George swallowed audibly, trying to remember any sort of argument-diffusing spells they may have learned in charms. Schlatt’s glower cracked, his lip curving up slightly, and that was all it took to send them both bursting into laughter.

"Just go mind your own business, Cow," Schlatt snickered, waving her away.

"Gladly. Any chance to get away from _you_ bastards is a gift," Minx rolled her eyes, quickly gathering her things and moving away. As she turned away from them, George noticed that she was biting back a smile.

Schlatt sighed and turned back to his fruit, flicking a seed off of an apple slice.

"Um, what was _that?_ " George asked, confused by the interaction he’d just witnessed.

"Ignore them,” Dream mumbled. “That's just the way they talk."

"Yeah,” Schlatt agreed, nodding, “We’re always doin stuff to piss each other off. She loves it, though. Freak.” 

“One day she’ll snap, and I’m not volunteering to clean your entrails off the floor.” Dream warned him.

“Nah, watch this.” He abruptly stood up, then, and turned in the direction of the girl’s retreating figure. “MINX HAS A BIG FAT CRUSH ON ME!" he screamed.

"IN YOUR DREAMS, PISS-HEAD!" she yelled back, without missing a beat.

Schlatt’s eyes sparkled mischievously as he turned back to Dream. "See? _Massive_ crush."

“Right…” Dream huffed, reaching over to take a sip of his drink.

Schlatt snickered, pushing the food around on his plate idly without really eating any of it. He held up a piece of strawberry to his face before grimacing and putting it down.

“Is something wrong with your fruit salad?” the Ravenclaw asked, nodding at Schlatt’s food. 

"This? Psh, c’mon" the Slytherin waved him off. "This fruit's just grea— _not bad_ ," Schlatt finished through gritted teeth, glancing up at Dream before aggressively stabbing a piece of cantaloupe. 

George furrowed his brows at the strange phrasing before taking a good look at the plates spread out before him. As his eyes scanned the dishes, something dawned on him. 

The food at the Slytherin table was noticeably less...good. It wasn’t _bad_ , as Schlatt had supplied, but it just didn’t look as appetizing as the food on the other House tables. The bacon looked just a _little_ too dark; the banana peels were littered with bruises; there was no steam coming off of any of the foods that usually arrived piping hot to his table. Small little details that added up to a less enticing spread overall.

"Does your food always look like this?" the Ravenclaw asked.

"Well, they didn't just make it all _spooky_ for Halloween," Schlatt chuckled, wiggling his fingers around to emphasize the word. "The food’s just part of the package when you join Slytherin."

"What do you mean? If you're in Slytherin it means you have to eat bad food?"

"It's not like it's _inedible_ , see?" Schlatt scoffed, popping a grape into his mouth, “Jusht kina shoft.”

"Well, yeah…” George said, frowning. “But how does it make sense for your entire House to be eating worse than everyone else?"

Schlatt chuckled and gave the other boy a wry smile. "Davidson, we're not stupid here. We're the snake house. You know, the big bad batch of the bunch. We get the short end of the stick sometimes, but it's no big— it's just the way things are."

"That's not fair." 

"Whatchya gonna do?” Schlatt shrugged. “You know what they say: 'there's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin.’ The house elves giving us some of their burnt bacon isn't the worst thing someone could do to us, especially right after the war."

As George stared at the haphazardly cut fruit on Schlatt’s plate. It struck him as odd, how feelings towards Slytherin House were just as divided as feelings towards Muggle-borns. 

"Come eat at our table," the Ravenclaw blurted out. "You're our friend too, right? If Dream can join us, so can you."

Schlatt shook his head at the offer. "Nah. It's...you don't have to invite me over just cuz ya feel bad."

"I'm inviting you over because you're Wilbur's friend. Don't be an idiot." George rolled his eyes. "And you're Dreams friend too, which means you’re my friend, and I don’t want my friends to eat bad food."

Dream nodded. "Yeah, the food over there really _is_ a lot better," he said, grimacing at the rubbery eggs on his plate. 

"Minx can come too, by the way!" George added, "She seems cool."

"Cool is definitely...a word," Schlatt snickered. "I don't think she'll be too quick to accept the invite, though."

"Well, it's there if she wants it." George said, clearing his throat dramatically. "You are both _cordially_ invited to eat at the Ravenclaw table."

Schlatt smiled. "Well, I'll let Minx know, but I, for one, _graciously_ accept."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


"So _none_ of them were in bed this morning?" Dream asked George in the library after breakfast.

"Dream, I wake up at _half past six_ just to make sure I beat them all. I’m _positive_ they were all gone."

"Hay huys! Hat har he hoin?" Sapnap cut in, appearing over Dream's shoulder as he slid into his spot.

"What the hell is in your mouth— what are you _wearing_?!" Dream exclaimed, grimacing as Sapnap pulled a set of spit-covered fanged teeth from his mouth.

"That's disgusting," George added.

"It’s my costume! I'm a vampire for Halloween!"

"Sapnap, we're on a _manhunt_ right now to discover a dangerous _undercover hitman_ and you're playing dress up?!" Dream exclaimed.

"Is this why you ditched us during breakfast?" George asked.

"Uh, yeah, it takes _time_ to look this good." Sapnap rolled his eyes, gesturing to his messy makeup and gaudy cape. “Seriously, you guys don't know when to unwind."

"Uh, we _do_ , and the time is _not now_ ,” George huffed. “None of the prime suspects were at breakfast this morning, and _all of my roommates_ were gone when I woke up!" George exclaimed. 

Before Sapnap could reply, Dream gasped and put his hand on George’s arm.

"George,” the Slytherin boy said, eyes wide, “What if they're working together?" 

George froze as he processed the suggestion. How had the thought not occurred to him before?

"But— no, that can't be!" Sapnap stammered, shaking his head, "It's— you said Techno’s missing, too, right?"

"Oh God, do you think they kidnapped him?!" George gasped, dread pooling in his stomach.

"What?! No _way_ , dude. Where would they even go? There’s probably a perfectly good explanation for all this," Sapnap insisted, glancing at something over George's shoulder. "Uh, it was nice catching up with you guys, but I gotta skedaddle. Don't stress it, okay? It's Halloween! Live a little! Get a costume! Or, I don't know, go have— go—"

George glanced over his shoulder and spotted Karl standing beside a bookcase, looking in nearly every single possible direction except at him.

"Is Karl waiting for you or something?"

"No? Yes. We have a...a thing— oh! I'm gonna help him with his costume, yeah, he saw mine and wanted one..too..I'm gonna go, bye!"

Sapnap scrambled off, grabbing Karl by the arm and pulling the Hufflepuff behind the bookcase, disappearing from sight.

George turned back to face Dream, scratching his head, "That was…"

"...weird. I didn't even know Sapnap and Karl were friends."

"Sapnap's friends with everyone. I wouldn't be surprised if he and McGonagall were on a first-name basis."

" _Hey Minerva! Wanna see me do a backflip off this staircase_?" Dream squawked in his best Sapnap impression.

" _Hey Minerva! Wanna see me shoot pumpkin juice from my nostrils?_ " George squawked back.

"Ew, Gogi, you're so gross.”

"It's not _me_ , it's Sapnap! I've seen him do it before."

"No you _did not_."

"Ask him during lunch, he'll show you."

"Alright, I will!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


By the time lunch rolled around, the boys were so drained from their Muggle Studies class that they forgot all about the pumpkin juice.

The missing Ravenclaws had all shown up to class acting like nothing happened. Techno even made fun of George when he’d asked where they’d been.

"What're you, our babysitter?" he’d snorted. "We're big boys. We know what we're doin’."

George didn’t get the opportunity to ask a followup question, unfortunately, because right at that moment Professor Borealis announced that she decided that they would each have to assemble a chair by hand that lesson.

"I'm sitting on the floor from now on," Wilbur declared, staring forlornly at his misassembled wooden legs. Having given up on finishing the piece of furniture after realizing the screwdriver could not be used as a wand substitute for ‘repairo’.

"I think...this is written in the wrong language," Eret muttered, flipping through the provided instruction manual confusedly.

"What is _this_?!" George exclaimed, pulling a curved piece of metal from the tool box.

Wilbur threw his hands up at that. "You too?! Aren't _you_ the Muggle-born here?!" 

"Yeah, but I never had to _assemble a chair_ before! I leave that stuff to my parents!"

"Uh guys? I think I'm done, but I have _no idea_ where this belongs." Techno grimaced, scratching the back of his head.

They all turned to see Techno standing before a perfectly assembled chair, a sizable plastic contraption in his hands.

"Techno, where did you get a _car battery_ from?!"

"This is a car battery?"

"You're building an IKEA chair, where did you find a car battery!?"

"What the hell is an IKEA?!” Wilbur exclaimed.

“Cars have _batteries_?" Eret spluttered, looking extremely distressed by the information.

"Yes! Where did you find that, Techno?!"

"I dunno, it was just in my pile. You're tellin’ me I _don't_ need it for the chair?"

"Professor!"

Once the car battery had been stored away safely and everyone's chair had been graded, they were released for lunch. As the students filed out of the classroom, George felt someone tap him on the shoulder.

"Hey Davidson, that invite still a thing?" Schlatt asked, Minx standing behind him, looking sour.

"Yeah! You’re invited too, Minx," George nodded at the Slytherin girl. 

"Thanks," she grumbled.

"No problem!" Sensing the tension, George wracked his brain for something friendly to say. Remembering the way Schlatt and Minx had bantered at breakfast, the Ravenclaw boy smiled, adding, "I look forward to eating lunch with you, Cow."

Schlatt's smile froze halfway on his face. The Slytherin boy glanced between Minx's slack jawed expression and George's oblivious smile and bit his lip. Minx looked furious.

"Wh—! _ExCUSE ME?!_ " she screeched.

"Uh, was I not...supposed to say that?" George asked, backing away slowly with a nervous chuckle, "Sorry, I thought that was just your nickname or something. I didn’t mean to _offend_ you by calling you a cow—"

"Oh no, that's _it_!" she screamed, lunging at George just as Schlatt caught her around the waist. "Put me down, you ugly bastard! Let me at ‘im!"

"Don't kill the Ravenclaw! He's our lunch ticket!" Schlatt managed through his coughs of laughter.

"Stop laughing, you _ignoramus_!" Minx yelled, clawing at her Housemate’s arms and kicking her legs. "I swear to Merlin I'm avada'ing you the second you let go!"

"Minx, please, I wanna eat!"

"He called me a cow!"

"If I put you down are you gonna rip George's throat out?" 

"Duh! Obviously!"

"We'll meet you there, Davidson," Schlatt nodded at George. "I'll get this woman to shut up."

"Oh, so _now_ I'm a woman!"

"Oh, shut it, you _horse_!"

"HORSE?!"

Minx thrashed around, finally landing a successful kick in between Schlatt’s legs and causing him to double over, setting her free. 

“What the hell is WRONG with you _, woman_!?” He cried, falling to the ground.

Minx ignored him, her eyes locking onto George.

"I'm gonna carve out your intestines, you bastard," she hissed.

George didn't need to hear the threat twice. Instantly, he turned around and booked it, not looking back once until he was safely seated at the table in between Dream and Techno.

"Um, hey guys, I might need some protection from our lunch guests," George muttered, looking over his shoulder hesitantly. When he noticed that Minx wasn’t still hot on his trail, he relaxed and started serving himself.

"Oh? Who did you invite, Gogi?" Wilbur inquired, cocking his head in question.

"Erm, Schlatt and Minx?" He supplied, hoping that everyone else would be alright with the decision.

"Oh, Schlatt’s great!” Wilbur grinned. “Haven’t had the chance to talk to him in a long time, what with all the… errands I had to go run.”

George glanced up at Dream, whose shoulders sagged at the Ravenclaw’s evasive phrasing.

“Which one of them did you piss off though?" Wilbur questioned, leaning over the table expectantly.

George winced, "Well, it wasn’t on _purpose_ , but Minx just got—"

“Oh good God, you’re on _Minx’s_ hit list?!” Wilbur hissed.

Eret let out a sympathetic gasp as Wilbur began to mutter what sounded like a prayer under his breath.

Techno tsked, shaking his head. "So uhh, what was it you wanted engraved on your headstone again?" he asked, grabbing a pen out of his pocket and clicking it open.

"I don't even know why she's mad at me! All I did was say _exactly_ what Schlatt said to her earlier. I thought she liked it!"

Wilbur clasped his hands together and started praying harder.

"Mhm, so did you want to be buried or cremated, I didn't catch that," Techno continued.

"I came here so that you’d _protect_ me," George pouted, staring at Techno with begging eyes.

"Ah, but you see, the thing is that I actually _like_ bein’ alive. I enjoy the feelin’ of air enterin’ my lungs and exitin’ my nostrils. I love it when all my organs are inside my body doin' their proper functions. Every mornin’ I wake up n’ go ‘Wow! My heart’s beatin’!’ and it just makes my whole day, I tell ya."

George groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Dream, please tell me I'm not gonna _actually_ die."

"George, I love you, but I won't lie to you."

He glanced at the rest of the table, who all stared at him as though he were already a walking gravestone. Wilbur was still praying. When he realized that nobody was going to reassure him that he would live to see another day, he sighed.

"Great.” He huffed, “Well, I'm gonna go sit _elsewhere_ so that I can live past my thirteenth birthday, and _you—_ "

"Davidson! Leaving so soon? We just got 'ere!" Schlatt cut in, clasping his hands together at the sight of the meal. "Aw this looks great! They really _do_ pick favorites here, huh?"

George turned to look at the newcomer with dread, cringing as he noted his disheveled appearance and the bright red hand print on his face. The Slytherin boy seemed totally unbothered by his injuries, however, as he easily slid into the seat beside Wilbur, while a disgruntled looking Minx trailed behind him.

"Schlatt, buddy! How are you doing!" Wilbur grinned, slapping him on the back.

Schlatt winced, "Ah, you know, a little bruised and battered, but I'm ready to _eat_ ! Doesn’t this food look just the _best_ , Minx?"

Minx stared back at the boy with cold eyes. If looks could kill, George thought, Schlatt would be dead. Maybe double dead, if that was even a thing.

Schlatt paid no mind to the death glare, elbowing Minx in the side. The Slytherin girl reached for her fork and stabbed the giant roast chicken in the center of the table aggressively.

“It looks fan- _fucking-_ tastic _,”_ she spat, glaring at George as she did so. “And if Davidson calls me a bloody _cow_ one more time he’ll be the next thing on the menu.”

" _Cow_?" Techno whispered to him.

"Schlatt said it first," George grumbled.

"How are you still alive?" Dream muttered under his breath.

Wilbur glanced between Minx and George before clearing his throat. "Well, it's great to see you, Schlatt! I never thought to invite you over because I thought it was obvious that you’re always welcome here."

"Eh, can't know how anyone'll act once you turn green on em," he shrugged, scooping up heaps of salad and mashed potatoes onto his plate.

Wilbur snorted, “Oh, that was weak, Schlatt. You’ll have to come up with a _much_ better excuse to get rid of me," he grinned, squeezing the Slytherin’s shoulder in a half hug.

"Don't get all sappy on me, Wilbur, I might throw up on you. And this is _good_ food that I don't wanna be throwing up."

"I know you love me."

"I do—" he choked, banging a fist on his chest as he coughed up his food.

"You do?" Wilbur snickered, slapping him on the back, "I never thought I'd see the day when you'd admit it!"

"I was _trying_ to say I do _not_! You're gro— you're annoy— ah, forget it, just let me eat."

"Oh, J. Schlatt,” Wilbur tsked, shaking his head with a sigh, “You truly are what the Muggles would call a tsundere."

"Wh…” Schlatt lowered his fork down, a look of disgust crawling onto his face, “What the hell did you just call me?" he asked, sounding deeply offended.

"A tsundere! Do you not—? Oi! Sapnap!" Wilbur called, waving at the Gryffindor who was approaching their table, "It's tsundere, right? That's a word?"

Sapnap jogged over to them, leaning over Dream’s shoulder. "Huh? Oh, yeah! Tsunderes are a _very_ important part of Muggle culture. Borealis’ll cover it soon, just wait!"

George quirked an eyebrow in Sapnap’s direction, but the first-year simply grinned at him in response. 

"Well, what the hell’s it mean?!” Schlatt demanded. “Don't just call me random Muggle words, Weirdo, this is why women are so—" He furrowed his eyebrows, seemingly struggling to come up with words.

"Repulsed by him?" Techno supplied.

"That's what I'm _trying_ to say." He grumbled.

Minx scoffed, "Oh, yeah, and you're a _real_ charmer in comparison." 

"Get outta my face, Whale! I said _women,_ not _animals!_ "

"Really? That's funny, because your face looks just like a baboon's arse!"

"Is that why you wanna kiss it so bad?" He puckered his lips and batted his lashes at her.

Dream shifted uncomfortably in his seat, grabbing a roll from the basket on the table.

"Think again,” Minx rolled her eyes, “I'd rather kiss one of those sharp Muggle spinny things that cuts things up small than kiss _you._ "

"A blender?" George asked.

"Yeah! I'd rather shove my entire face in a blender!"

"Ha! Maybe it'll make you look better, too!"

"Oh yeah? Well you should try it as well, then, because you could really use it!"

"Hey George, can you pass me the gravy?" Wilbur asked, ignoring the argument as he reached over Schlatt's shoulder to grab the bowl from George’s hand.

"Don't you have some food to finish, Donkey?" Schlatt groaned.

"Donkey? Aww, you're getting creative now!" She exclaimed before smacking her Housemate on the shoulder.

"Has he used pig yet?" Techno asked, biting a fried potato slice.

Beside George, Dream cringed. Schlatt tsked and shook his head. "C’mon, Techno, that one’s too far. I’m not _evil_.”

"Yeah, sorry, don't know what I was thinkin," Techno apologized, rolling his eyes.

“Why is _pig_ where the line is drawn?” George whispered to Dream.

“It’s mostly a pureblood thing, but almost every wizard is aware of it,” the blond boy replied as Schlatt and Minx continued their banter. "Pigs are like a bad omen, basically. You know how owls are magical creatures? Well, pigs are the least magical creatures in existence.”

When George shot Dream a puzzled look, the other boy rolled his eyes and tried to elaborate. “Listen, all you gotta know is that calling someone a pig is, like, the worst insult _ever_ for a pureblood.”

“...oh,” George replied. “Good to know, then.”

The table fell into an oddly comfortable silence after that as everyone busied themselves with scarfing down their food.

“So... how did Karl’s costume turn out?” George asked Sapnap, who was itching at the uncomfortably high popped collar of his vampire cloak.

“Oh! Pretty great actually, had to get it done quick before his first period but he’s lookin snazzy as heck.”

“Snapper, hand the greens over, will ya?” Schlatt called to the first-year through a mouthful of some sort of pie.

“And more gravy!” Minx added, tearing meat off of a chicken bone with her teeth, “Wilbur poured it all on his plate, the bastard.”

“If he ate it all, where am I supposed to get more from?”

“Well, if the Raven-brains don’t have any left I’m sure mighty Gryffindor can spare some gravy, can’t they?” Schlatt asked, waving him off, “Go on.”

Sapnap stared at the two before shrugging. “Looks like I’m an errand boy now, I guess.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Go get the greens and gravy from Gryffindor! How’s that for alliteration?”

“That _was_ some nice alliteration,” Techno nodded.

“It’s all yours, Blade,” He waved his fork at him, “If you ever publish it in some sorta book and make hella cash off of it, make sure to give me my cut.”

“Duly noted, ten percent of the proceeds go directly to Schlatt.”

“T— ten?!” Schlatt cried, nearly choking on his pumpkin juice, “What’re you tryin to rip me off here?! That might just be the greatest part of that entire goddamn book! Fifty or I’m suing, and I’m planning on marrying a lawyer so you _bet_ I’ll be equipped.”

Techno shook his head, “Ah, but what you _don’t_ know is that my _cousin_ is a lawyer!”

“What?!”

“Oh yeah, and he’s a lawyer _now_ so by the time whoever _you’re_ marryin’ becomes a lawyer, my cousin will have studied the law for years!”

“No!” 

“I had it all planned out from the start, Schlatt! Ten percent or nothing!”

“Forget it! This isn’t over, Blade! Me and my lawyer are gonna take you down!”

Techno pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a smirk, “I’d like to see you try.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It was a few hours after dinner, during which Schlatt and Minx had also joined them, that George was making his way over to the astronomy tower. He had taken a nice nap right beforehand in preparation, so he was more than ready to observe some stars.

As he hauled himself up the stairs, he noticed how strangely quiet it was. Usually there were quite a few students grumbling to themselves and each other about how annoying these midnight lessons were. Today, however, it seemed that nobody was interested in complaining. Or, for that matter, in showing up.

He shrugged it off, reaching for the doorknob once he had gotten to the classroom only to find that it was locked. He fiddled with the knob for a bit before huffing and reaching into his robe for his wand.

“Woah there, Gogi, what’s going on?” A voice called from behind him.

“Wilbur?” George asked, turning to face the roommate who had just appeared behind him, “Where is everybody? The door to the class is locked, and—”

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” Wilbur interrupted, taking a step closer to him, “Professor Sinistra was called for a meeting with McGonagall today. Our class is cancelled!”

“O-oh really?” George asked, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that he was alone with one of the prime suspects in their case. “W-well that’s weird, how did you find out?”

“They told us all right after dinner! You were probably asleep, then. Sorry we didn’t tell you.”

“Oh, it’s not your fault,” George gulped. “S-so I guess it’s back to the common room with us, right?” he chuckled nervously.

Wilbur shook his head with a smile, “Oh, no, not for us.”

George felt his stomach drop. It couldn’t be. Not Wilbur.

“L-listen Wilbur, you don’t have to do this.” George stammered.

Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows at that, “Wait, you _know_?!” he cried. “Who told you!”

“N-nobody, I figured it out myself, but _please_ listen to me, okay? I— you don’t have to—”

“Oh come _on_ , I’ve been planning this thing for _weeks_! I’m not just gonna let it all go to waste!” he huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Wilbur, please—!”

“Nope! You’re not changing my mind! Get ‘im, boys!”

All at once, a blindfold was put over his eyes and somebody grabbed him from behind, hauling him up over their shoulder.

“Wait! Stop!” He screamed, kicking at the person underneath him, “Wilbur, please, this isn’t necessary! You don’t have to do this!”

“We missed our chance last year, Gogi, we’re not gonna miss it again!” Wilbur declared as George held back a sob. “I’ll see you there!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to AO3 statistics, only a small percentage of readers actually leave kudos. If you enjoyed this update, please consider leaving kudos and a comment. It's free, anonymous, and it lets us know you want us to write more!
> 
> Go shout at me (KangarooKen) on tumblr: kangarooken.tumblr.com
> 
> Go read Gra55's other fic, an epic PJO AU, here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25270081


	12. Chapter Twelve || Year Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George gets a surprise. Winter holidays begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! We're back again with another insanely long update because we're maniacs. Enjoy!

George thrashed in the arms of his captors as they dragged him down several different sets of stairs.

“HELP! I’M BEING KIDNAPPED, HE—”

“ _Quietus!_ Blimey, George, what’s the matter with you? Stop screaming,” Wilbur muttered after casting the quietening charm.

George tried to scream again, but his voice came out all broken and squeaky. Rendered practically mute, he had no choice but to struggle silently. There were several pairs of arms restraining him — who were the other kidnappers? Eret? Schlatt? Were _all_ of his friends secretly pureblood supremacists?

No, not all of them were. He still had Dream.

Dream, who likely had no clue what was happening to George and would be worried sick about him come morning.

Another jolt of pure terror seized George’s frame as the thought occurred to him. Would he even be _alive_ in the morning?

The sound of a door being wrenched open tore him out of his panicked thoughts. He suddenly became hyper aware of the sounds around him. Whispers and hushed voices quieted as he drew near — wherever he was, there were definitely multiple people already in the room.

Was he being taken out of Hogwarts? One couldn’t apparate on Hogwarts grounds and there were dozens of security measures in place to prevent students from leaving via the Floo network, but perhaps his captors were smart enough to smuggle him out anyway. Maybe a portkey?

...Or perhaps they just brought him into a secluded room so they could kill him quietly.

 _I’m sorry, Mum and Dad_ , was George’s last thought as he prepared himself for death. _I never got to say goodbye._ _I’m sorry Sapnap._ _I’m sorry Dream. I’m so so sorry—_

Abruptly, his captors released him. He stumbled blindly to the floor, feeling cold tile beneath his hands and knees.

“ _Nonquiescis,_ ” Wilbur muttered, the counter-spell immediately clearing George’s throat.

 _That’s odd,_ he thought. _Why would they let me speak?_

“George,” Wilbur’s voice cut through the silence. The other Ravenclaw sounded...amused. “You can take the blindfold off, now.”

“Why?” George spat bitterly. “You want me to _watch_ you kill me?”

A cough sounded from somewhere across the room. George could hear Wilbur shuffle nervously beside him.

“Um...pardon?” the other boy said, sounding confused.

George felt tears stinging the back of his eyes, but he refused to let them spill. He wouldn’t give the monsters the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

“I won’t do it. I thought you were my _friend_ , Wilbur. I- I _trusted_ you! ” his voice cracked as he bit back a sob. “I-I thought you d-didn’t care about blood status or whatever, but I guess I was wrong. You put on a convincing act, Wilbur. I really _truly_ believed you.”

The entire room was silent apart from George’s words echoing around them. God, the other kidnappers probably thought he was an idiot, but he didn’t care. Why couldn’t it have been some random third party? The fact that the attacker was one of his friends made everything hurt so much worse.

“George, what are you—”

“Save it! I don’t want to hear any of your justifications, okay? Why couldn’t you have just been evil from the start?!” he spat, voice wavering. “Why did you have to make me believe that I was your friend? And Techno, too! Why— why did you have to _lie_?! Isn’t it enough that you’re going to attack us? T-to kill us?”

“ _Kill_?!”

“Oh my _god,”_ somebody grumbled from behind him, taking long swift strides in his direction, “Let’s get this over with before he embarrasses himself even more.”

George’s heart leapt into his throat. This was it. He was going to die. “Just know that my muddy blood will be on _your_ hands!” He screamed, “You won’t get away with this! You’re—”

The blindfold was torn off of his face in one swift movement and his voice cut off.

The first thing his eyes registered was fire. The room was pitch-black except for a single flame burning atop a wooden table — a _candle_ , George realized. As his vision became more focused, he saw that the candle was embedded in something wide and round.

A cake.

George’s gaze snapped to the other faces in the room. In the light of the candle’s faint glow, he saw familiar faces staring back at him with puzzled expressions. He recognized Karl standing nervously off to the side, shifting uncomfortably as he fiddled with a wrapped gift box in his hand. Schlatt and Minx sat at the table beside the cake, the former of whom was pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation while the latter had turned her head to the side to avoid looking at the spectacle. Or maybe to hide a chuckle. Across from them was Bad, who had a shocked looking first-year clinging to his sleeve.

What the hell kind of kidnapping _was_ this?

The person behind him cleared their throat awkwardly, “Ehhh...surprise?” Techno’s monotone voice said hesitantly from behind him.

“Geez, guys, we scared Noobidson half to death. I _told_ you your idea of surprises was messed up.”

“Don’t blame me, Gémure-Boye. This was all Wilbur’s idea.”

The words of the quidditch players behind him made George freeze up all over again.

This...wasn’t a kidnapping?

As all of the little details came together, George suddenly wished this really _was_ a kidnapping so that he could die on the spot instead of having to face the incredible embarrassment to come.

Presents. Birthday cake. God, he was such an idiot. He was at a birthday party.

A _surprise_ birthday party. Arranged by Wilbur. For _him_.

George looked up at his curly haired roommate, who looked like he was thinking the exact same thing. “Well…” he began, glancing around at everyone else in the room before looking back at George, “Happy….Birthday?”

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from the room’s entrance.

“Everyone STOP!” A voice screamed and Dream came bursting through the door with Sapnap sprinting closely behind him, “This is a TERRIBLE IDEA—!”  
  


The blond froze when he noticed George on the floor. His eyes drifted to the blindfold hanging limply in Techno’s hands and the uncomfortable stances of the rest of the partygoers.

“Oh my god….” He grimaced, turning to George. “You went off, didn’t you?”

George stared guiltily at the floor.

Dream swivelled around to look at Sapnap. “Merlin, Sapnap, WHY THE _HELL_ WOULD YOU LET THEM DO THIS?!” he yelled at the first-year behind him.

“They only told me about this party TODAY! I didn’t know they were gonna _kidnap him!_ ” Sapnap yelled back, throwing his arms in the air. “That’s why I ran to tell you when I found out!”

Dream ran a hand through his hair, “God, Wilbur—!”

“Dude, can ya stop pointin’ fingers at everyone?” Techno cut in with a roll of his eyes. “Obviously, nobody here thought that George would freak out n’ think we were instigatin’ a racially motivated attack against him.”

“What _I’m_ trying to understand is why none of you _told_ me!” Dream cried.

“Because you woulda blabbed about it,” GB80 huffed.

“No I would _not—_!”

“Dream, please,” Techno stopped him. “Let’s not have _two_ people embarrassin’ themselves here tonight.”

Even George had to admit to himself that the logic was sound. It would’ve been impossible for Dream to keep the party a secret when he spent nearly every spare minute with George. In fact, the surprise party was probably the reason Sapnap had been acting strange earlier that day.

Another thought occurred to George, then, as he contemplated the surprise. All of the odd behaviors he and Dream had interpreted as suspicious now had an alternate explanation. All of his friends acting weird and dancing around him, Wilbur and Eret avoiding their study sessions, Bad’s strange packages...

His friends hadn’t been planning to _kill_ him. They’d been arranging a whole party behind his back.

A tense silence filled the room. Dream was still looking around in exasperation, trying to find someone to blame for the entire situation, but everyone else in the room had the same guilty expression plastered across their faces.

“Welp!” Schlatt stood up, clapping his hands together. “Obviously, everything that happened here was a huge mistake, right, boys?”

Everyone nodded.

“Well, then what are we all standing around looking stupid for? This is a _party!_ Wilbur had to do a whole search to find the passage to the kitchens for this meal! Let’s not let an accident ruin the good mood, alright? Now, everyone say sorry to George for making him piss his pants.”

George rolled his eyes, “I did _not_ —”

“Sorry, George,” the room chorused.

Schlatt smiled and turned to George. “Now, George, say sorry to everyone for calling them terrorists.”

“I—” George began, staring at everyone else before sighing. “Sorry for calling you terrorists…”

Mumbles of forgiveness filled the room.

Schlatt clapped his hands once more and gave the group some sort of signal. “Great! Surprise! Happy Birthday Davidson!”

“Surprise!”

A party popper was cracked open and confetti soon littered the floor. Wilbur offered George a hand and proceeded to pull him into a hug.

“Merlin, Gogi, I’m so sorry,” Wilbur whispered to him as Schlatt began distributing snacks to everyone.

“I-I’m sorry too, I really didn’t— I didn’t want to believe that you—”

“No, it was totally understandable,” Wilbur shook his head, pulling away from the hug in order to look George in the eyes. “It was pretty stupid to just grab you in the middle of the night, blindfold you, and throw you into some random room without warning. I wasn’t thinking about how scary it might be for you, I-I didn’t even realize how lucky I am to not have to be afraid that my friends are gonna turn on me like that. Over something I can’t control.”

“No! It’s not like that, I—”

“George, we all heard you. I— you don’t need to try to explain yourself. I’m really sorry. I’ll do better, okay?”

George opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. How was he going to explain his reaction? He couldn’t exactly expose their little investigation, so how could he tell Wilbur that one of his friends really _was_ someone to fear?

“Davidson, get over here!” Schlatt called out before George could think of something else to say. “Minx looks like she’s gonna take a whole chunk outta your cake before you even get to blow this candle out!”

“Shut up, you _arse_! I don’t even need to be here!”

“Then leave,” he challenged, staring her down.

Minx scowled and held his gaze before turning away and crossing her arms. “Whatever.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Cow.”

“Enough with the _cow_!” she screeched, aiming a plastic fork at his throat.

George sighed as Wilbur gave him one final pat on the back before guiding him over to the table. The cake, he noticed, was covered in blue frosting, and so, too, were most of the other things in the room. The tablecloth was blue, as were the utensils, the plates, the streamers, and the party hats.

“How— where did you find so many blue things?” George stammered.

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it!” Wilbur exclaimed, “I was out looking for a room for your party one night because Philza told me that the common room would be off limits for something like this. He gave me permission to leave, don’t worry. He even told me where to look for the Room of Requirement!”

 _That must’ve been the night when Philza stopped me from going after Wilbur,_ George realized. “Wait, Philza was in on all of this, too?”

“Yup! At first we planned on doing everything by ourselves, but then Eret was told he couldn’t learn the Disillusionment Charm to hide the presents, so we recruited him to the team. In the end we just got Bad to keep them in his room instead, but that’s not the point—”

“Hey, Wil?” Schlatt cut in. “No offense, but can you tell the birthday boy all of this _afterwards_? I don’t think I can hold Minx back for long.”

“You’re such a stupid _bastard,_ ” Minx hissed.

“Then lay off the goddamn cake!”

“It’s sitting right _there_ and he’s not even eating it now, anyways!” she cried.

“Davidson, just make a wish and let her eat. She’s acting like she’s gonna starve.”

“I’m _hungry_!”

“We just ate a few hours ago!”

“I have a fast frickin metabolism, okay?”

Schlatt groaned, massaging his temples. “Just shut up, Minx, shut up. Is everyone ready? Haaaappy birthday to— ow!”

“Don’t tell me to shut up!” she spat, waving the plastic knife around in her hand menacingly.

“What the hell is wrong with you, woman?!” Schlatt rubbed his shoulder painfully where the plastic knife had bounced off of him. “Ah, Wil, call St. Mungo’s!”

“Stop crying!” Minx yelled, “It barely scratched you!”

“Somebody call a healer!”

Wilbur elbowed George’s side, looking pointedly at the lit candle on the cake and then back at him.

“I’ll give you something to call a healer for, you whiny bastard!”

“Minx, I have one thing to say to you,” Schlatt grimaced.

“And what's that?”

“If you want that cake so bad, why don’t you have a bite?!”

With that, Schlatt’s hand came up to grip the back of her head and shove it right into the side of the cake.

George gasped and looked away. There was no way that Schlatt would be making it out of this one alive.

Minx screeched and waved her fists in every direction, her threats muffled by a mouthful of cake. Schlatt grinned and plucked the candle from the remaining pastry before depositing it on top of Minx’s head and blowing it out gently.

“Clear the area to the doorway, everyone,” Techno sighed as Schlatt shot a semi-apologetic look in George’s direction.

A well placed plastic knife slash hit Schlatt’s arm and he recoiled with a yell, freeing Minx from the cake. The blue icing covering her face and hair couldn’t even begin to mask her murderous rage.

“I’m gonna KILL YOU!” she shrieked.

“Alright, thanks for the invite, Wil! We’ll be leaving now! Might be back later!” Schlatt called over his shoulder as he raced towards the doorway, throwing it open and sprinting down the hall with Minx hot on his trail. Her screams and threats could be heard well after the door had slammed shut behind them.

The partygoers stared at the ruined cake in silence. The first-year sitting next to Bad leaned over and poked it with a fork.

"Well…" he trailed off, considering the piece of cake on his fork.

"Skeppy, don't do it, please." Bad grimaced, "You said you would behave."

"I'm pretty sure anythin' he does right now would be considered better behavior than whatever just went down," Techno sighed.

"Exactly! My plans are _ruined_!" Skeppy cried, "Are you really gonna take away the _one thing_ that could bring me happiness right now?"

"Smashed cake is the only thing that can bring you happiness right now?" Karl snickered.

"Yes."

"Well— I— but that's _gross_!" Bad exclaimed.

"I can't believe you would say that." Skeppy sniffled, wiping a fake tear from his eye.

"You know what, Skeppy? You're right." Sapnap said, walking over to the cake and forking a piece of his own. "What we need to do now is eat some smashed cake and relax. This is gonna be a _fun party_ , okay?"

"Yeah!” cheered the rest of George’s friends.

It _did_ end up being a fun party. The boys all laughed and danced and ate snacks until the early hours of Saturday morning. George received so many wonderful gifts that he doubted he’d be able to carry them all back to Ravenclaw Tower without assistance. Luckily, his roommates volunteered to help. Well, Wilbur and Eret volunteered to help; Techno still claimed he was too injured to do any “heavy liftin’.”

It was nice to forget about the investigation for a night. For once, George was just a thirteen-year-old boy celebrating his birthday with his friends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week and a half after his surprise party, George noticed that the quidditch players all seemed to have acquired heavy bags under their eyes. As the first games of the season drew nearer, the captains of all the House teams began training around the clock. It seemed to George like the pitch was never empty anymore — there was always a team running drills outside, no matter the weather. On most mornings, Techno was already out on the pitch before anyone else was awake.

“What time did you wake up this morning, Techno?” George asked his roommate as the second-years made their way to lunch after Charms.

“Uh, about... five? Maybe earlier?” the other boy estimated, yawning.

George’s jaw dropped. “ _Five?_ You’re joking. Why do you need to wake up that early?!”

“Eloise wants us to have longer practice sessions,” Techno said with a shrug. “We did six rounds o’ suicides today.”

The boys took their seats at the Ravenclaw table, George still not believing his ears. “What do you mean, you did six rounds of _suicides_?”

“Chill out, man, it’s just a sprinting drill,” GB80 cut in, swinging his legs over the bench and digging right into the lunch spread. “Vovchuk has us do ‘em too.”

“But why are they called _suicides_?”

“Cause they’re so exhausting you feel like dying afterwards. Pass me the soup ladle?”

More second-years filed into the Hall soon. Dream plopped himself right next to George, Schlatt and Minx following close behind.

“Alright, let’s see what’s on the menu today, boys!” Schlatt declared, leaning over the table expectantly as he threw his bag down by his feet. “Soup?! Is this some kinda joke?”

Eret looked up from the textbook he was reading to glare at Schlatt. “If you don’t like the food here, you can always return to your own table, you know.”

“Oh I know, but I’m willin to bet that the warm flavored water at our table’s been _pissed in_. I like my chances here better,” Schlatt snickered, dipping a roll into the serving bowl.

“Oh come on, it can’t _possibly_ be that bad,” Eret huffed, rolling his eyes.

“It _really is_ ,” Dream cut in.

“Yeah, I’m glad I booked a seat at this table. If I had to go into Quidditch season on a Slytherin table diet, it’d be a nightmare.” GB80 grimaced.

“Yeah, now you have no excuse for terrible performance,” Techno snickered.

“Just admit I’m good, Techno, it won’t kill you.”

“Wait, what position do you play again?”

GB80 rolled his eyes. “In a few years when I’m the number one quidditch player in the world and you’re begging me to be on your team, I’ll remember this.”

“Yeah, remember how I welcomed you to _my_ table and fed you food from _my_ plate so you wouldn’t become malnourished.”

“It— well, how does that even make sense?” Eret asked, slamming his book shut as he diverted the conversation back to its original matter, “You guys are the first Slytherins _ever_ to realize that your table has worse food than everyone else?”

“Maybe it’s something that just started recently?” Wilbur shrugged, “I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a new post-war development. I’ve heard some people say pretty nasty things about our favorite snakes.” He threw his arms around the shoulders of Minx and Schlatt, who sat on either side of him, and squeezed them tightly.

“Get off of me, you dirtbag!” Minx cried, the movement caused some soup to spill on her lap. “What the hell!”

“Wil, paws off or I’m biting you,” Schlatt threatened. Wilbur tucked his arms away with a chuckle.

“I can’t imagine why anyone would wanna say anything bad about them,” Eret deadpanned.

“Aw, they care deep down,” Wilbur assured him. “We’ve all just got different ways of expressing ourselves, don’t we?”

“I’d like to _express_ my desire for you to pass me some more bread,” Schlatt said, elbowing Wilbur..

“Could you express it _kindly_?”

“Do you have arms? Can you pass me the goddamn bread?”

“Schlatt, I’m trying to make a case for you and you’re making it very hard for me.” Wilbur huffed.

Schlatt groaned, reaching over Wilbur to grab the bread himself.

“Maybe Schlatt isn’t the best example to illustrate my point…” the curly-haired Ravenclaw trailed off.

“C’mon Schlatt, you’re giving us a bad name here,” Dream snickered,.“Try being nice for once, geez.”

Schlatt considered his words for a second before shrugging, “Nah, I don’t wanna.”

“Oh come _on_ , Schlatt,” Dream said with a chuckle. “Just tell us the truth, already!”

Schlatt froze, looking up at Dream slowly. “Alright, I will. The truth is that Wilbur’s actually a great friend, and I don’t think he’s that annoying. I really appreciate Davidson inviting us over to this table where I get to eat actual good food and catch up with my Ravenclaw friends. I really _wasn’t_ sure if any of you guys were gonna want me around here because of—”

“Woah, woah, woah! Okay, stop! Too much truth! You’re freaking me out!” Dream cut him off, waving his arms around frantically.

Minx stared at her fellow Slytherin with a slack-jawed expression as Schlatt paused his ramblings. “Are you _dying_?!”

“What? No! Geez, am I not allowed to get serious without the world ending?” Schlatt replied smoothly, discarding his soggy piece of bread which he’d accidentally drowned during his tirade.

“Schlatt, that was the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.” Wilbur sniffled, pulling the Slytherin into a tight hug. “It’s a miracle. This is even better than the day I learned about pens!”

Schlatt squirmed in his grip. “Can’t breath, goddamnit! Let me go!” he croaked.

“Why would you think we wouldn’t want you around, Schlatt?” George asked, glancing at the struggling figure in Wilbur’s death grip. “Is— is it because you’re in Slytherin?”

Wilbur paused, giving Schlatt temporary space to breathe. “Wh— seriously?” the Ravenclaw asked as Schlatt shot him a glare. “I thought you were joking about that! What kind of friend judges someone based on their House? You can't _decide_ which one you're in. That’s ridiculous.”

“I-I think I’m gonna go now,” Eret cut in, standing from his seat. “I...have some last minute things to do. I’ll be in the library.” With that, he excused himself from the lunch table and scrambled away.

There were a few moments of awkward silence following Eret’s abrupt departure, but Dream was quick to change the subject by bringing up quidditch again.

“So... when’s the first House match?” he asked GB80.

The other Slytherin’s heterochromatic eyes lit up in excitement. “Tomorrow! We’ve been practicing like crazy, I better see everyone here in green tomorrow.”

“Imagine rooting for Slytherin.” Sapnap chimed in from a few seats away, rolling his eyes, “Gryffindor’s _so_ gonna beat you. I bet you’re scared.”

“Scared? Of Gryffindor?” GB80 scoffed, “Not a chance.”

“Do you even _know_ anyone from the Gryffindor team?” Dream asked.

“Nope, and I don’t need to,” GB80 said confidently. “Do we even _know_ a Gryffindor who isn’t this guy?” He thrusted his fork in Sapnap’s direction.

“Uh, Skeppy’s pretty cool,” Techno replied.

“Yeah, they’ve got some alright kids there,” Schlatt agreed in between spoonfuls of soup.

“And who do _you_ know from there?” Dream quirked his eyebrows at him.

Schlatt snickered, rolling his eyes. “Oh, so what, you’re the only Slytherin allowed to have a Gryffindor first-year followin him around? C’mon Dream-boat, I’m allowed to socialize, aren’t I?”

“Oh, you bastard, you didn’t even tell him you moved seats, did you?” Minx asked, punching him in the shoulder. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Why are you always so _violent_?!” Schlatt cried.

“The poor kid’s probably been looking for you everywhere, you arse! Go find him and invite him over!”

“What are you, our mother?”

“It’s called _empathy_ , you moron!” She pushed him off the bench. “Don’t come back here without him!”

“Geez, alright, alright, just try not to eat everything while I’m gone, okay?”

“ _Leave!_ ” She screamed, and Schlatt disappeared.

“They’re gonna have to get a bigger table for Ravenclaw at this rate.” Wilbur chuckled.

“Well, we’d invite you over to _our_ side, but you’d get food poisoning,” Minx said, before quickly adding, “ Not that that would be a _bad_ thing.”

“Aw, Minx! I didn’t know you cared.” Wilbur grinned, patting her arm.

“I never said I _cared_ —!”

“Uh, hey! So who’s Schlatt bringing over?!” Sapnap cut in, cutting Minx off, “I didn’t really notice anyone ever ditching Gryffindor to go hang out with the Slytherins.”

“Yeah, cuz you’re always _here_ ,” George stated, rolling his eyes. “ _Obviously_ you wouldn’t notice.”

“I’m not _always_ here.”

“Sapnap, when was the last time you ate at Gryffindor?” Dream asked.

“Well….” Sapnap paused, considering the question, “It would’ve been _awkward_ if I sat and ate with everyone while you two were at the hospital so…”

“Why haven’t your prefects kicked anyone off yet? Aren’t those nerdy bastards always walking around with sticks up their arses?” Minx demanded, huffing.

“What’re you complaining about? We get full access to better food,” GB80 cut in.

“‘Sides, Philza probably has ‘em all lookin the other way.” Techno explained, “He’s the greatest. If there was ever a man that belonged on one o’ those chocolate frog card things...”

“Is there a way to nominate people?” Wilbur asked. “How many owls till they cave, do you think?”

“Hey, Cow! I brought a Gryffindor kid over, like you asked!” Schlatt’s voice rang out above the din of the Great Hall.

“Well, it took you long enough!” She yelled back.

“Scoot over, Snapper, this one’s more important.” Schlatt pushed Sapnap aside and guided a confused, terrified looking first-year to the bench.

The group of second-years stared at the younger student in silence while Schlatt took a seat beside him and draped an arm over his shoulder.

Techno cleared his throat. “Uh, hey—?”

“Schlatt, you—! Who the f— who the hell is _that_?!” Minx cried.

“It’s a Gryffindor first-year,” Schlatt grinned. “Right, buddy?”

The kid nodded quietly, staring intently at the plate in front of him without saying a word.

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you?!” Minx spluttered, “Merlin, you’re an idiot!”

“Sapnap, who is that?” George asked.

“That—”

“C’mon, Davidson, why don’t you ask the kid himself?! It’s rude to talk about someone when they’re right in front of you.”

“You know what else is rude? Abducting small children who don't want anything to do with you! Go put him back!” Minx demanded.

“But he just got here!”

“Take him back, I said!”

Schlatt sighed. “Minx, I want to eat. One second you want the kid—”

“I didn’t mean some _random_ kid, I meant—”

“—the next second, you don’t. Can you make up your mind?”

“Uh, Schlatt?” Techno cut in. “Just, as a general table rule, we kinda have a ‘no forcin unsuspectin kids to eat lunch with everyone’ policy here. You know, to keep the order n’ everything.”

“Aww, well why the hell did no one tell me?! Minx, look at what you’ve done.” Schlatt shook his head, patting the Gryffindor kid on the shoulder. “C’mon champ,” he huffed. “We gotta get you back to your red people.”

With that, Schlatt disappeared, leaving a seething Minx to curse his name under her breath while the Ravenclaw boys exchanged puzzled looks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

George didn't get to meet the _actual_ first-year until the Slytherin vs Gryffindor match the next day.

All of the Ravenclaw boys except for Eret had filed into the rickety Slytherin stands, pushing past grumbling older students as they made their way to their friends. Schlatt and Minx were easy enough to find; the former was waving a giant foam finger above his head enthusiastically while the latter was dressed from head to toe in a color George assumed was neon green. Minx had even dyed her hair a shimmery lime-ish color for the occasion, and the face paint she wore reminded George of the cake that covered her face on his birthday.

Even more startling than Minx’s appearance, however, was the giant blow-up snake that hissed and twisted in Minx's arms every time she moved.

"Wow, uh, can't quite tell what team you're rootin' for here exactly, Minx." Techno stammered once everyone was seated. “You're a Gryffindor fan, I’m assumin’?"

Schlatt cringed. "God, don't even joke about that. She might bite your head off, man."

"Shut up, you _morons_ , the players are coming out now!" Minx yelled, leaping to her feet. "WOO! GO SLYTHERIN! WIPE THE FLOOR WITH THOSE—"

Not even the deafening cheers of the other Slytherin students could drown out the very loud string of creative profanities that followed. George had to admit: he was fairly impressed by Minx’s vocabulary. He hadn’t known that many insults even existed.

The game soon began, and it was obvious from the start who the winners would be. Much to Minx’s delight, the Slytherin team completely demolished the Gryffindors with a final score of 200-10. The stands had to be evacuated immediately after Vovchuk caught the snitch and one of Minx’s green smoke bombs exploded due to her excitement.

Green smoke coated their hair and robes as the group exited into the field, wheezing and coughing.

"Oh wow, looks like you guys were partyin a little too hard in the serpent stands, eh?" An unfamiliar voice rang out above the hacking. "You should've invited me! Our side was so boring that I didn't even wanna be seen there."

"Boring, huh?" Schlatt coughed, spitting out a mouthful of smoke residue. "Aren't you just a poor thing?"

"I _am_ poor, Schlatt. I'm very poor, and you didn’t put in any charity work for a poor little boy like me." The newcomer sniffled.

Blinking through the tears in his eyes, George could see a blurry figure standing with his arms folded across his chest.

"Sorry, there's just somethin' about this situation right now that doesn't really put me in the most 'charitable' mood." Schlatt huffed, just as a popper in Minx's hand exploded and sprayed him with green confetti.

"Would you just throw those things in the GODDAMN TRASH ALREADY?!" He screamed, lunging at Minx. "Gimme that!"

"Back off, you slimy bastard!" Minx spat, kicking him away from her party supplies as she continued to cough.

"No! If another one of these _goddamn_ poppers explode, Minx, I don't even know what I'm gonna do to you!"

"Woah, chill out man, it's just a popper," the newcomer chuckled nervously.

Schlatt whirled around to face the Gryffindor with a glare. "Quackity, I swear to God, do you know what my insides look like right now? Do you wanna know? Because to me it feels like Shrek's _ass cheeks_ have taken residence in my lungs—"

"Okay, who the _hell_ is Shrek?"

"Who the—!" Schlatt spluttered, "No. Oh my god. You— you're joking, right? I know it’s originally a Muggle thing, but even _I_ know who Shrek is. Please, Quackity, tell me you're joking!" The Slytherin grabbed the younger boy by the shoulders, shaking him back and forth in an increasingly distressed manner.

"Why?! Why would it be a joke?!" He cried, clutching onto Schlatts arms as his brain rattled a little too hard in his skull. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please! Who is it?! Are they famous? I'll find out, oh my god!"

"Is Shrek _famous?!_ Is that what you just asked me?!" Schlatt cried. "Are you all hearin this?!"

"Dude, what's a Shrek?" Dream murmured in between coughs, glancing up from his keeled over position just in time to see a look of horror coming across Schlatt's face.

"Oh my god, do none of you know even the most _basic_ aspects of Muggle culture? Holy— Davidson, please help me out 'ere."

"Shrek? It's a kids’ movie, isn't it?" George asked

Schlatt groaned, dropping Quackity to the ground in order to slap his own face in exasperation, "What the hell kind of society is this?!" He cried, throwing his arms up in the air. "How did your parents raise you?!"

"Badly…" Dream muttered.

"I can _tell_! Aw, that explains it! Is this what no Shrek does to a man? Is this why you're all like this?" He grimaced, looking at all the coughing students around him.

" _I_ watched Shrek," Technoblade chimed in, raising his hand.

"See? Look at him." Schlatt stumbled over to Technoblade and gestured at his gagging figure, "Look at him! What a beautiful specimen. What a _man_. His value as a human being is just…" Schlatt trailed off and then sighed, "Who wouldn't want to be him?!"

Technoblade raised his own hand.

"Put it down, Technoblade. It's either yourself or one of these non Shrek watchers. Please. Pick the _right_ side."

Technoblade put his hand down.  
  
“When in the bloody hell did you guys both have the time to meet this guy?” Wilbur wheezed, wiping the tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his robe and only managing to spread more green residue on them.

“Meet—? Wilbur, what the hell are you talkin about?” Schlatt asked.

"Schlatt, please tell me, where can I go watch this guy?" Quackity asked, clambering to his feet, "Does he live in the castle? Is he here? I'll go there now, I'll observe him.”

“Who?!”

“Shrek! I want to watch him, I wanna see what he does that’s so interesting, okay?! Just tell me where to go, please, I need to know!"

"Quackity, it's a movie." Schlatt snickered.

The Gryffindor furrowed his eyebrows at the word, "So...his name is Shrek. And he's a…. moo-vee?"

Schlatt's jaw dropped. "No. You’re not serious, are ya? I refuse to believe— Stop—!"

"What's a movie?"

"Oh my GOD!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eret had laughed at them when they met up again after the game, fetching his roommates a change of robes and casting a cleaning spell on them before they could get green muck all over their room

“When did you learn the Scouring Charm, Eret?” George asked the other boy, surprised. “I thought _Scourgify_ wasn’t taught until fourth year.”

Eret shrugged and tucked his wand away. “I’ve been studying.”

“Clearly.”

“Anyway,” Eret said, changing the subject, “ _Please_ tell me you guys didn’t invite Minx to our side for next week's game. I like blue as much as the next guy, but I rather like my current skin tone.”

George shrugged, “I mean, at least it’ll be a color that I can actually see properly.”

Eret considered his words for a moment. “You know, I might go cheer on Hufflepuff. I’m sure Bad and Karl would appreciate—”

“Oh _no,_ you don’t! You’re sitting with us whether you like it or not!” Wilbur declared, throwing his arm around Eret’s shoulder. “You’ve been avoiding the group _way_ too much recently, always off on your little lunchtime adventures. Don’t betray us during Quidditch games, too.”

George froze at the words. Had Eret really been missing _that_ often? Sure, the other boy hadn’t been spending much time with them in the Great Hall, but he hadn’t abandoned them entirely...right?

George racked his brain, trying to remember the last time Eret had spent time with them outside of class. To his shock, he came up blank.

There had to be some sort of reasonable explanation for Eret’s absence. George probably just had to ask him about it.

 _No, George. Remember what happened the last time you ran around investigating your friends?_ his thoughts reminded him. _You hurt Wilbur’s feelings. You called him a traitor._

George decided not to press his other roommate.

The thought, however, never left him.

Without even noticing it, George had subconsciously begun to fall back into his investigative routine. Staying up late into the night, and waking up earlier than everyone else. Feeling shivers run down his spine whenever Eret excused himself during class. Noting the days when Eret would ditch their group hangouts to go do "last minute things."

Eret, in turn, must have started noticing that George was onto him. That, George reasoned, was why he was trying to make himself look less suspicious by joining them for meals a little bit more often as time went on.

Eret was trying to fit in, George realized. Trying not to look like the big fat traitor that he was.

 _But...his smile looked so sincere._ _Eret's one of the most loving and inviting people you know_ , another part of his brain insisted. _This has to be a mistake._

But, later that day, when George peaked over Eret's shoulder when the other boy was writing something, he noticed a few words that made his blood run cold.

 _Muggle-born roommates_.

Eret was writing to someone about him.

When he went looking through Eret's things that night, however, the letter had already been sent to its intended recipient.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We can’t do this anymore, George.”

George looked up from his fifth attempt at reading the same paragraph from their Potions book to shoot Dream a questioning look. The two boys had headed straight to the library after their last class that day, breaking out their textbooks to get a little bit of studying done for the end of semester exams. However, George's eyes seemed to be a bit more keen on drooping shut than on focusing.

“You don’t want to study in the library anymore? I guess it _is_ a bit crowded. I suppose we could head to the Courtyard, though it might be too cold…”

“No, George. I mean the investigation. We— you can’t do it anymore.”

George put down his quil and stared at his friend blankly, “I— _I_ can't do this anymore?”

“George, don't play dumb, okay?” Dream huffed. “I'm not blind. I see the way you're chasing Eret around—”

"I'm not chasing _anyone_."

"Yes, you _are._ You're obviously not getting enough sleep, you keep giving him these weird looks every time he sits with us, and even _weirder_ looks when he's not."

"That…" George trailed off. What was he supposed to say?

"It's exactly what we did before, when we were investigating everyone else."

George contemplated the words for a second, before a realization struck him. "Okay, so what if I am?"

"What?"

"So what if I _am_ investigating him? Huh? We never officially stopped our _original_ investigation. We never found out who the real traitor was, which means there's still some crazy hitman running around our school!"

Dream threw his hands up in exasperation. "George you— what you're doing right now isn't healthy, okay?"

"I think it's pretty healthy to be _alive—"_

"It's not healthy to be suspicious of your friends and to think that they're going to kill you!" Dream cried. "You're _tired_. You've been slacking in class — _oh_ , don’t give me that look. All the teachers have noticed that you aren't raising your hand as much."

"What I'm doing right now is much more important!"

"No, it's not. It's just making you paranoid."

"That's easy for _you_ to say! You're not the one with a name on that list!"

Dream went quiet at that, the silencing stretching on for an uncomfortably long time before he let out a sigh. "Have you even made any big breakthroughs since your birthday?”

"Yes." George nodded in affirmation, "That's why I know it's him for sure, I just need to catch him with something _really_ big so I can show it to McGonagall."

Dream lowered his eyes down to the table, his shoulders sagging. "Fine."

George glanced at his friend for another moment, before turning back to his potions textbook.

"Just... promise me something. Okay?"

George turned his eyes back to his friend once more. "What is it?"

"Take care of yourself first. I'll let you do whatever investigation you want. I'll even _help_ you with it. Just...take care of yourself for now. Hold it off until the end of winter break, okay?"

"But—!"

" _Please._ For _me_. I can't keep seeing you walk around like some kind of zombie. I want to help you, but you _can’t_ ruin your life over this."

George pursed his lips. Was Dream _seriously_ not getting how dangerous the situation was?

"This investigation has already hurt people, George. And that’s the _opposite_ of what we want to do," Dream added.

Wilbur’s pained expression flashed through his mind at those words.

_George, we all heard you. I— you don’t need to try to explain yourself. I’m really sorry._

George gulped. Dream was right. They were too quick to jump to conclusions before, and obsessing over the list again might make history repeat itself.

Plus, George really _was_ tired and slacking off. He was smart enough to recognize that this entire thing was putting him at risk of losing both himself _and_ a friend.

He sighed and shut the textbook in front of him. "Okay. I promise."

Dream blew out a long breath and leaned back in his chair. "Thank you," he said. "And I promise that if by the time we get back to Hogwarts after winter break you're _still_ sure that it's him, I'll help you investigate."

George smiled at the words. He really _was_ lucky to have a friend like Dream.

"Deal."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The week before the end of term, Dream and George were packing up their bags after another intense Muggle Studies lesson. Just before they were about to exit the room, they noticed Eret lagging behind, shifting anxiously in front of Professor Borealis' desk.

The two best friends exchanged a curious glance, a silent agreement passing between them. As soon as they were outside the room, they scrambled to get out of view of the doorway, tilting their heads in their classmate’s direction to better hear the conversation.

“Ah, there you are, Mr. Eretson. I've received your owl about the matter you wished to discuss."

Eret nodded, staying silent as he glanced around the classroom nervously.

"You really shouldn’t worry about such things," she assured him.

“I-I know,” Eret stammered. “I just can’t help but feel anxious. It's been really hard, trying to relate to them and everything...”

“Intermarriage is as common as the mumblemumps, my dear boy. Your cousin isn’t the first to fall in love with a Muggle, nor will she be the last,” Borealis said calmly. "And as for relating to them: that's what I'm here for. I'm glad you felt comfortable approaching me with this matter."

“Yeah,” Eret sighed, voice breaking. “I just want to be able to protect them. They keep talking about how I'm a 'super cool wizard', and I don't want to let them down so…." He gulped, "I-I’ve been spending a lot of time in the library, studying protection spells and other higher level charms, but I guess I also want to be able to see things from their perspective.”

George peaked around the doorway and saw Professor Borealis smiling gently. “My advice to you is to trust your cousin and focus on your upcoming examinations. You have enough on your plate already, Alastair.”

Eret nodded, still seeming like he had something to say. He opened his mouth, but hardly any sound came out.

"Something is troubling you," Borealis sensed.

"Y-yes I… I was just wondering how—" he paused, "How would one go about…. w-when it comes to addressing prejudice—"

Borealis's eyes widened. "Mr. Eretson, if your family is not supportive of your cousin's—"

"No! No, it's nothing like that!" Eret cried, waving his arms around to dismiss the idea, "They're _very_ supportive. Almost _too_ supportive. They're basically obsessed with all things Muggle right now. I think they even got jealous when they heard that I would be taking your class this year."

Borealis chuckled, relaxing at the words. "So, then, what exactly _is_ the issue if not familial prejudice against Muggles?"

"Well…" Eret trailed off, "I think, since Muggles face _a lot_ of prejudice, you would know how to talk about it, right? So...if it was prejudice against a different group of people who also couldn't control their circumstances, how could I explain to them that it's…"

"Wrong?" she finished his sentence.

Eret nodded, "I...I have friends here who my parents weren't too happy about. I thought they were right about them for a long time too, but…there's no excuse for judging someone based on something they can't control. I realize that now."

"So that's what you should tell them," Borealis replied. "I'm not too sure what kind of prejudice you might be referring to, but you explained it very well to me just now. And if they're supportive of Muggles, you can use that as a comparison."

Dream reached out and tapped George on the shoulder, motioning for them to leave. George nodded; he didn't feel comfortable listening in on this conversation anymore. The two quietly slinked away from the doorway and made their way towards the Great Hall.

“So…" Dream began, taking slow steps to their destination.

“So,” George echoed.

"Looks like Eret had a lot on his plate this year."

"Yeah…" he trailed off, feeling a lump of guilt building up in his throat.

Dream put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Hey, you didn't know about it. It's okay—"

"It's _not_ , though. This whole time Eret's been trying to bond with his new Muggle relatives while I've been accusing him of being a racist terrorist," George retorted. "And don't act like we don't know what that _second_ bit was all about. He's been trying to learn a whole new culture while _also_ getting over his own House bias. That's, like, being _doubly_ not racist. He's the most unracist person in the world."

Dream considered his words for a moment. "Yeah, I-I guess he is. It takes a lot of guts to be able to stand up to your family about this kinda stuff. They always think their awful opinions are right."

George nodded, feeling worse by the second. "I'm really glad you stopped me from this whole investigation thing. If I’d've falsely accused _another_ one of my friends, I wouldn't’ve been able to live with myself."

Dream suddenly paused in his steps and rummaged through his pocket for a moment before pulling out a crumpled piece of parchment.

George gulped. He knew what that paper was.

"Will you do the honors?" Dream asked, handing it over to him.

George reached out and crumpled up their suspect list. As he did so, he realized that he’d never been happier to throw out a piece of paper in his entire life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The cozy warmth of the Hogwarts Express was a welcome escape from the biting winter chill.

Inside the compartment, George took his favorite seat by the window. Dream soon sat down beside him as Sapnap claimed the spot directly across from him. Wilbur, Eret, Schlatt, and even Minx soon squeezed in as well, making for a tight yet not unpleasant fit.

As the train began to move, Wilbur let out a wistful sigh.

“I sure will miss the castle,” the curly haired boy remarked, gaze fixed on the passing Scottish hillside outside the window.

“You’re _such_ a Ravenclaw,” Sapnap teased. “The holidays _just_ started and you already miss school.”

“It’s not _just_ about missing school, it’s about feeling homesick. Doesn’t Hogwarts feel like home to you now?”

“Nah. I don’t have tests at home. Those end of semester exams _killed_ me, dude.”

George snorted. “You mean your _first-year_ assessments, Sapnap? Was _Wingardium Leviosa_ really that hard to perform?”

“ _Hey_. It was hard for you, too, once.”

“Yeah, George, you really shouldn’t be talking,” Dream chimed in. “Didn’t it take you, like, three weeks to figure out _Alohomora_?”

George blushed and crossed his arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The rest of the ride into London passed in a similar vein, with the second-years laughing and bantering and generally having a good time. After about an hour, the steady rhythm of the train coupled with the soothing sounds of his friends’ conversations lulled George into a pleasant sleep.

When, several hours later, George woke up and glimpsed the smiling faces of his waiting parents through his compartment window, he was too happy to be embarrassed about the fact that he’d woken up with his head on Dream’s shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

George awoke on Christmas morning to the sound of a thump on his bedroom window.

Stifling a yawn with his hand, he sat up in his bed and blearily rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. A glance at the clock on his bedside table told him it wasn’t even eight in the morning. Curious about the sound, George slowly got to his feet, padded over to his bedroom window, and opened it…

...only to be hit squarely in the face with an incoming snowball.

“Wh—?” George spluttered, scrambling to wipe the cold snow off his face. Annoyance bubbled in his chest; he _knew_ without even looking who was to blame for this rude awakening.

His suspicions were confirmed moments later when he heard a tell-tale wheeze from outside.

“Merry Christmas, Georgie!” a voice yelled up at him. Groaning, George poked his head out the window and glared down at his grinning best friend.

“What’s _wrong_ with you?” he demanded, noticing a second snowball in his friend’s hand. “Dream, I swear, if you throw that thing at me I will burn your Christmas present.”

Dream gasped theatrically and hastily discarded the snowball. “You _wouldn’t_.”

“Don’t test me. Why are you awake this early, anyway? It isn’t even _eight_.”

Dream pouted and looked up at George with his best puppy dog eyes. Despite his lingering annoyance over Dream’s actions, George found himself smiling at his best friend’s antics.

“I wanted to give you your present! _Pwease,_ Gogi, pwease come outside?” Dream pleaded, pulling a wrapped box out from behind his back.

George huffed and rolled his eyes, "I'm coming out from the front." He declared, closing his bedroom window before Dream could call him anymore embarrassing nicknames. He threw a jumper on over his pajamas and padded down the stairs into his living room. His father was already awake and sipping a cup of coffee by the fireplace by the time George came downstairs.

“Going out already, George?” his dad asked, nodding at the winter coat George held in his hands.

“Yes. Is that alright?”

His dad smiled and tilted his head. “Is it that boy next door? The one who goes to your school?”

George blushed and nodded sheepishly. “I won’t be long, though, so you can tell Mum I’ll be back in time to help her with breakfast.”

His dad waved a hand dismissively and shooed him out the door. “Don’t worry about it. Go have fun. Oh, and wish your friend a Merry Christmas from me!”

With that, George shoved his feet into his snow boots and stepped out into his snowy front yard. Dream was already waiting for him on the stairs, foot bouncing up and down impatiently.

“There you are!” he exclaimed upon hearing the door open and leaped to his feet. “Took you long enough.”

“I literally _just_ woke up!”

Dream smirked, "Yeah, yeah, excuses, excuses."

"You're _so_ annoying."

"Whatever, c'mon, we gotta go to our spot!"

"Wh— what do you mean, 'our spot?' It's freezing out here! Can't we just exchange gifts now?"

"Nope! Everything important happens at our tree stump, George, we can't break tradition!" He grabbed George by the wrist and began pulling him away from the door.

"Yes we can! See? Right now! Just give me my gift and I'll give you yours and we'll break tradition!"

Dream tsked, "Nope! I didn't sneak out of the house just to do a boring gift exchange at your front door."

George groaned, allowing himself to be tugged towards their clearing in the park. If Dream really _did_ have to Mission Impossible his way out of the house, he may as well humor him on this.

When they made it to their little clearing, Dream shoved the box into George’s hands. “Alright, open your darn present, already.”

George huffed and proceeded to peel the edges of the wrapping paper off bit by bit. Predictably, this frustrated Dream to no end.

“Oh my _god,_ George, just tear it off!”

“No,” the shorter boy said stubbornly.

“If you don’t open the box within the next three seconds I will tear it open for you.”

George rolled his eyes at his friend’s impatience and hastily pried the top of the box off, squinting inside to examine his present.

“You got me...glasses? Thanks, but...I don’t wear glasses, Dream.”

When George looked up at his friend, he noted the mischievous glint in the other boy’s eye.

“Just put them on. You can see me through them first. Oh!” Dream gasped, smiling as something occurred to him. “I’ll be the first thing you really see!”

George was properly confused, but he nonetheless picked up the white glasses and put them on.

And, for the first time in his life, George saw the world in full color.

He looked up at his friend in wonder, gasping when his eyes took in the sight of Dream standing before him. The blond boy looked all at once the same and completely different. His cheeks became fuller, tinted a hue he couldn’t name. Dream’s eyes, shining with excitement, had also taken on a new vibrance.

“Your eyes,” George said breathlessly. “They’re...”

“Green, George! They’re green! Can you see them?”

“I…” George trailed off, rendered speechless by just how _vivid_ everything looked. The winter sun was just beginning to rise in the sky, setting the world ablaze with colors George could only think to describe as _warm_. The snow around their feet was cast in a soft glow, and George couldn’t resist the temptation to reach down and touch it with his fingers to see if it felt any different.

“Are you okay, George?” Dream asked humorously, amused by his friend’s reactions.

“Do...do you see like this all the time?” George finally asked in a voice saturated with wonder.

“Yep! I figured you might like to see a real sunrise.”

Suddenly overcome with emotion, George leapt forward and enveloped Dream in a hug. The taller boy stumbled back, surprised at first, but soon returned the gesture with a chuckle.

“ _Thank you_ , Dream. This is the best gift ever,” the shorter boy said into his friend’s shoulder.

“Aww, you’re welcome. I asked Madame Abbott and Professor Flitwick to help me get the color correction charm right, so I’m glad you like it.”

“I _love_ it. I’m never taking these off. Like, _ever_.”

The boys separated, then, and Dream raised an eyebrow.

“Are you _sure_ about that? Those white goggles are kinda goofy-looking.”

In lieu of a reply, George thrust a small gift box into his friend’s hands. Dream let out an excited gasp and immediately tore open the wrapping paper.

“Now, it’s nowhere near as good as the gift _you_ gave me, but—”

“You got me a _doll_?!” Dream interrupted, holding his gift up to his face. It _was_ a sort of doll, white and soft to the touch. It had neither arms nor legs, but it _did_ have a very derpy smile stitched onto its face.

“Well, let me explain—”

Suddenly, Dream gave the doll a squeeze. Immediately, a familiar voice echoed throughout the clearing.

 _“Oh, Geo-ORGE!”_ the doll called out in Dream’s own voice.

“...WHAT?! George, what was _that_?”

“I charmed it to sound like you. When you squeeze it, it says something you would say. I originally wanted to make the doll look like you as well, but…” George shrugged sheepishly, “well, I’m rubbish at arts and crafts, so it came out like that instead.”

Dream gave the doll another forceful squeeze. A deafening wheeze sounded around them, making Dream grin like the cat that ate the canary.

“...what have I done?” George groaned.

In response, Dream squeezed the doll again.

 _“I’m gonna pee myself!_ ”

“Dream, _stop it!_ ”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Though the two best friends had to part shortly after sunrise, Dream was able to meet up with George again after dinner. The two boys were attempting to build a snow fort in their clearing when Dream pelted a snowball at George’s face.

“ _Dream!_ ” George exclaimed angrily.

“Ha! You should see your face!”

“I _hate_ you.”

“No, you don’t. You love me.”

“Well I _hate_ your stupid ways!”

Dream chuckled. “If you hate my stupid ways so much, you can always find another best friend.”

George couldn’t help but pause at the words. They sounded eerily similar to something Eret had said to Schlatt at the Ravenclaw table over lunch, back when George was still keeping track of his roommate’s every move.

Remembering their failed little investigation made a familiar fear creep up George’s spine. His shoulders sagged.

“It still scares me, you know,” he suddenly blurted out in a voice barely above a whisper.

Dream put down the block of snow he’d been holding, the smile disappearing from his face in an instant. Of course he knew _exactly_ what George was talking about without him even having to say it.

“It shouldn’t,” the blond said, finally.

“How couldn't it?” George countered. “I— I don't want to be afraid of my friends, Dream. I care about all of them. A lot. Nothing in the entire _world_ is worth hurting them. But that doesn't change the fact that someone is _still_ out there, after me."

Dream looked away, seemingly thinking about something. When he finally looked back up at George, his face was fixed in a determined expression.

“It's pretty obvious that my dad is a huge part of this whole thing,” he said, cringing at his own words. "I’ll tell you what: I have one possible test I can run that shouldn’t outright let him know that we're onto him. If whatever I find out reveals nothing, you have to _promise_ me you're going to drop this thing forever. Okay?"

George paused, then nodded.

"Good. In fact, I'll head home and do it right now," he said, standing to his feet and tucking his hands into his coat pockets.

“Wait—I’m sorry, Dream. I shouldn’t have brought it up on Christmas,” George said guiltily.

Dream smiled and shook his head. “It’s alright, George. Putting you at ease will be your second Christmas present, alright?”

With that, Dream turned and walked in the direction of his house. George couldn't help but smile gratefully at the receding figure of his best friend as he disappeared into the trees.

The way back home wasn't exactly easy for the Slytherin. He had to tiptoe around the back of George’s driveway and duck behind trees to stay out of sight, but eventually he managed to sneak all the way up to his own fence.

With one final glance over his shoulder, Dream threw himself over the fence and into the bushes of his backyard. Once on the other side, he paused, listening for footsteps. Thankfully, he was met only with the disgruntled sounds of grumpy garden gnomes.

Satisfied no one was watching, Dream quickly reached down, picked up a pebble off the ground, and threw it at his bedroom window.

A few moments passed with no response, but eventually the window swung open and a chain of tied-together bedsheets was tossed through it and lowered gently to the ground. Dream grabbed hold of the chain and began to climb, while the person on the other side tugged him up at the same time.

Once he successfully made it through his window, he collapsed onto his bedroom floor with a grunt. A figure closed the window for him before taking a seat on the edge of the bed and giving the blond a look.

"Good grief, Dream,” the person said, rotating an arm stiffly. “Maybe lose a few pounds if you're gonna keep doing this, eh? This whole routine feels like a goddamn workout."

"Listen, I had to cut my meeting short today," Dream began, shrugging off his coat.

"Aw yeah? What for? Didja get tired of Davidson already, or did you just miss me too much?"

"Stop. This is serious, okay?"

His roommate paused, seemingly caught off guard by the serious tone. "Oh, alright then, let's hear it."

Dream sighed, placing his gloves on his nightstand before turning back to the other person. "I..." He gulped, hesitating. The action was enough for the curious expression on the other person’s face to morph into one of disbelief.

"Dream, don't you dare," he warned. “You promised you wouldn’t use it against me.”

"I'm sorry, but I have to. I-I promised George."

"Well, what the hell didja promise him that you need to do this _now_?!"

"I— I need you to—"

"What the hell, Dream? Why is your promise to him more important than your promise to _me_?!"

"Schlatt," Dream said, looking his friend squarely in the eyes, mouth opening to say the words. “Tell me the truth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to AO3 statistics, only a small percentage of readers actually leave kudos. If you enjoyed this update, please consider leaving kudos and a comment. It's free, anonymous, and it lets us know we should write more!
> 
> Go yell at me (KangarooKen) on Tumblr: kangarooken.tumblr.com  
> Go read Gra55's PJO AU while you wait for the next magical chapter!


	13. Chapter Thirteen || Year Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream has a few questions for Schlatt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a short chapter, but then Gra55 happened (again) and it's 7.5K. I swear it's like Christmas morning every time I wake up and check the Google doc. Anyway, enjoy!

Dream dreaded the breaks.

There were far too many, in his opinion. Why did Hogwarts students need time off for Christmas _and_ Easter? Though he personally didn’t care much for studying, given the choice between sitting with George in the stuffy Hogwarts library and arguing with his dad all day long, he’d choose the library in a heartbeat.

 _At least I get to see Drista again._ _S_ _he’ll probably be so excited to see me,_ he thought. _At least I won’t be all alone._

When the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, Dream gave George’s leg a gentle poke to wake the other boy from his nap. The Ravenclaw’s brown eyes blinked open, and in that moment Dream was very tempted to make some sort of teasing comment about how George slept with his mouth open, but there was something about the look of pure joy that flashed across his friend’s face when he spotted his parents out the window that made the words catch in Dream’s throat.

Instead, Dream watched George sprint out of the compartment with only a hurried goodbye aimed in his direction.

Their other friends soon followed suit, breaking off from the group to embrace waiting family members on the platform. Wilbur’s father bent down to ruffle his son’s hair. Sapnap’s dad looked overjoyed to see the first-year again. Then there was George’s dad, who looked so _proud_ of the Ravenclaw boy that it made Dream want to cry.

Bitter jealousy swirled in the pit of Dream’s stomach at the sight.

A grunt sounded from behind him, breaking him out of his ugly thoughts. This was followed by the thump of something heavy dropping to the ground.

“God, what am I, your little manservant? Come getchure own bags, Dream-boat. These suckers are heavy!”

“You could’ve just waited for me to get my own things, Schlatt,” Dream snickered, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. The train’s gotta get outta here soon, you know. It’s not just gonna wait for _Mr. Staring-Off-Wistfully-into-the-Sunset_ to get himself together and grab his things. This whole break better not just turn into me doin a buncha heavy lifting.”

“Oh, shut it. You just want an excuse to complain about something.”

“N—” Schlatt paused, the retort caught in his throat. He glared at Dream for a moment before sighing, “Ah, you know I can’t lie to you, buddy.”

Dream’s shoulders slumped. Yes, he _did_ know.

It had started the summer right before second year. Schlatt said it was some weird family curse; a _blood malediction_ , Selwyn Sr. had told him afterwards. Dream’s fellow Slytherin had travelled from healer to healer in search of a cure, but, evidently, the search had been unsuccessful.

Schlatt couldn’t lie to Dream. That much Dream knew, despite the fact that he didn’t know much else about the other boy’s predicament.

The only reason he knew anything at _all_ was because of his dad’s involvement in the whole thing. From what Dream could gather, Selwyn Sr. owed some sort of debt to the Slytherin Head of House. Why else would he agree to take in _another_ kid when he could barely stand the ones he had already?

As the two boys waited on the platform, Dream felt a pang of pity for his friend. Sure, Dream’s dad was awful, but at least Dream _had_ a home.

At least Dream’s parents hadn’t disowned him for being sorted into the wrong Hogwarts House.

A question occurred to Dream, then, as he contemplated his friend’s circumstances.

“Hey, Schlatt?” Dream asked, successfully getting his friend’s attention.

“Hmm?”

“I was just wondering,” the blond began casually, hoping the question wouldn’t come off the wrong way. “Why did you go to Slughorn? You know, after…”

Schlatt’s expression darkened, lips curling into a wry smile. “After my parents went batshit over their only son becoming a snake?”

Dream grimaced and nodded. “Well...yeah. After that.”

Schlatt sighed, combing a hand through his messy brown hair before shrugging. “Well I had to tell _someone_ , didn’t I? Lemme ask _you_ a question, how bout that? Which adults would _you_ go to at our lovely school if your parents disowned you, huh? Because lemme tell you if we had to take a quiz on what adults are dependable in that place, I’d just turn it in blank.”

Dream went quiet at that, understanding Schlatt’s point. Sure, there was McGonagall, but she wasn’t the most... _approachable_. Longbottom, Borealis and Aurora were alright, but Schlatt wasn’t exactly their favorite student.

“Exactly,” Schlatt concluded with a nod, taking the silence as an answer. “With the man’s whole ‘Slug Club’ thing, he’d hafta know _someone_ that’d let me crash at their place. And wouldn’t ya know it! I was right.”

Dream snorted. “Too bad it had to be the Selwyn household.”

“Eh,” Schlatt shrugged. “There’s worse places in the world. It _is_ pretty funny that I’m livin’ with a family I’m cursed not to lie to but _c_ _é_ _le ry_ or whatever it is the French say.”

Dream winced at that. Funny sure was _one_ way to put it. Cruel seemed more apt, in his opinion.

At least Selwyn Sr. had felt somewhat responsible for Schlatt’s affliction. He probably wouldn’t have volunteered to accompany the boy to all of those healers last summer, otherwise.

On the one hand, Dream pitied Schlatt for having to spend any amount of time with his father. On the other hand, his father’s absence had allowed Dream to spend as much time with George as he’d wanted, so Dream didn’t feel _too_ bad about the whole thing.

Needless to say, both boys had been _thrilled_ to be returning to Hogwarts by the time fall had rolled around.

“Man, do you know how much of a pain in my ass this stupid curse has been?!” Schlatt grumbled. “Apparently, _sarcasm_ counts as lying now. I had to scrap so many jokes whenever you reared your head into the place!”

“I’m sure that’s definitely the worst thing this curse has done for you, Schlatt,” Dream chuckled.

“Oh shut it, Dreamy, you don’t even know the half of it. I don’t even wanna talk about all the assignments I couldn’t lie about forgetting in the dorms. And you’d always just be sitting _right there,_ laughin at me like it’s not your fault!”

“Wh—!”

“And don’t get me _started_ on calling people names! Whenever you’re around, I can’t even call someone a bastard unless they are a _literal_ bastard!”

“How does it let you get away with calling Minx every name in the zoo, then?”

Schlatt’s smile wavered at the corners for a second at the mention of the other Slytherin’s name. “Nicknames don’t count, I guess. Speaking of, we never talked about that stunt you pulled during lunch that one time.”

Dream cringed as he remembered the strange incident. “You’re talking about the whole ‘tell the tru—’?”

“ _Woah!_ Hey! Stop that!” Schlatt cried, cutting Dream off frantically. “You promised you wouldn’t exploit my curse, remember? You can’t just go around sayin those words, man! What if you accidentally make me spew all my dirty dark secrets?”

Dream nodded sheepishly, muttering an apology under his breath. In a way, Schlatt’s curse was the Selwyn family’s fault; the _least_ Dream could do was respect the other boy’s ground rules.

“Oh, there he is!” Schlatt exclaimed, pointing at someone over Dream’s shoulder and pulling the other boy out of his thoughts. “Your pops is here, Dream-boat!”

Dream turned around with a grimace as his father approached with a house elf following closely at his heels.

"Hello, boys," Selwyn Sr. greeted them neutrally.

"Heya, Mr. Selwyn!" Schlatt grinned, waving at Dream's dad. "Sorry I’m intruding on your home again this season."

The house elf waddled over to the boys' bags and grabbed hold of one that looked far too heavy for the small creature to handle. Once it had a grip on each trunk, the elf apparated away with a barely audible _pop._

Selwyn took a step forward to place a hand on Schlatt’s shoulder. "One must not apologize for things out of his control,” he stated, eyes trained on Schlatt’s. “A Slytherin will always be welcome in my home, even if he is unwelcome in his own. Do I make myself clear?”

Schlatt nodded seriously, signalling he understood.

"Good. Do not let me hear you apologizing for any sort of 'intrusion' in my home ever again. To do so would imply that I am not welcoming you into it with open arms."

"Y-you got it, boss." Schlatt saluted.

Selwyn smiled at the boy’s gesture. "Very good. It's nice to see that _somebody_ here respects my authority." The man glanced at Dream, who simply scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Aha, yeah, no problem, Sir," Schlatt chuckled nervously, trying to diffuse the situation. "It's, uh— it's a big change from last year, for me! Yeah, last year was just me n' Minx and a coupla others in the common room all winter break. You know Minx, right, Sir?"

“I’m...familiar with the family, yes,” Selwyn replied absently.

“Yeah, she’s somethin’. I feel kinda bad leavin her alone this year, but I...I’m really grateful for you and your family, Sir. It’s nice— havina place to go.”

Dream felt the slimy grip of guilt claw at his throat. Once again, he felt like a jerk for throwing himself a little pity party while Schlatt was literally _homeless_.

He felt bad for not telling George to invite Schlatt and Minx to the Ravenclaw table sooner. That was what a _good_ roommate would’ve done.

"And you shall continue to have a place to go," Selwyn assured Schlatt. "As long as you need it, my home will be open to you."

Dream nodded, determined to make the best of the situation for Schlatt’s sake. "I-I don't know how great it's gonna be having to share a room with a guy you can't lie to _year round_ now instead of just during the school year," he added, "But I’ve always said my room was too big, anyway. It'll definitely feel a lot less empty with you around."

"In fact, if anyone should be apologizing, it is I," Dream’s dad cut in before Schlatt could even respond to Dream’s comment, "For being unable to provide you with separate accommodations. I’m aware that my son isn’t always...the _easiest_ to get along with."

Dream forced himself not to roll his eyes again. Of course his dad couldn't just let Dream have a pleasant moment for once.

Schlatt glanced between the two Selwyn's with watery eyes. "A-aw geez, you guys're-you're gonna make me tear up here, I ca— I don't wanna be doin that now."

"If it cannot be helped, then do what you must," Selwyn sighed, conjuring a handkerchief with a wave of his wand.

Schlatt sniffled and tucked the kerchief into his robe pocket. "N-naw. I gotta— I’m gonna hold it back. I don’t wanna be all lame now.”

Selwyn gave the boy one final appraising look before the house elf apparated back onto the platform, holding its hands out to the two Slytherin boys.

“Very well, then. I trust that you can handle yourselves with the elf?” He asked.

“Yessir,” Schlatt nodded. Dream just huffed and took the house elf’s hand.

“Good.”

And with that, Dream screwed his eyes shut and held his breath while the world turned inside out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream hadn’t been lying when he’d said his room was big. When his family had first arrived in the UK, nine-year-old Dream used to chase Drista around it in big circles until the toddler would collapse to the floor in a heap of exhausted giggles. Having his baby sister in his large bedroom had made it seem far less imposing and scary. His dad had refused to even entertain the idea of them sharing a room, however.

 _You’re almost ten, Clay,_ Selwyn had said to him disapprovingly. _I won’t have my heir sharing his bedroom with a_ baby _. It would be beyond improper._

“Is that a pink Hippogriff plushie?” Schlatt snorted, pointing to a toy in the middle of the carpet once the boys materialized in Dream’s room. “Didn’t know you were one for stuffed animals, Dreamy.”

Dream rolled his eyes. _Of course_ Drista hadn’t listened to him when he told her not to go into his room while he was at Hogwarts. Everywhere Dream looked, he saw evidence of the four-year-old’s presence. He groaned when he saw that Drista had been playing with the LEGO set George had given him for his tenth birthday.

“Bippy,” Dream called out, summoning the elf to his side.

“Yes, Master Clay?”

“Take Drista’s stuff out of my room before I _Incendio_ all of it into a pile of ash,” Dream commanded through gritted teeth.

“Yes, Master Clay! Bippy will move Miss Drista’s possessions right away, Master Clay!”

While the elf moved his sister’s belongings, Schlatt leaned in and asked Dream in a stage whisper, “Does Bippy know that _Master Clay_ can’t actually do magic outside of school until he’s seventeen?”

Dream elbowed Schlatt in the side. “I live in a house with two magical parents. The Ministry wouldn’t be able to trace me.”

“Whatever you say,” Schlatt snickered, walking over to his trunk and unlatching it. Bippy had prepared a spare bed for Schlatt on the other side of the room, identical to Dream’s own setup. With two bedside tables, an extra set of blankets, and an extra set of drawers for Schlatt to use for the duration of his stay. The drawers even had some of his things left over from Summer, when he last stayed over, but it was all folded neatly away instead of thrown inside haphazardly the way he left it.

“The service in this place is really something,” Schlatt commented as he admired his living situation.

“Yeah, it’s not bad when that elf actually does what it’s _supposed_ to do. Just be warned that Drista will definitely put her grubby little hands on your stuff if you leave it out.”

“Where _is_ the kid, anyway?” Schlatt asked.

Dream shrugged. “Downstairs, probably. Hold on — _DRISTA!_ ”

Almost immediately, an excited squeal sounded from somewhere else in the house.

“DWEAM!” an answering voice called out.

“ _KIDS! NO SCREAMING!”_

“SORRY, MOM!”

Suddenly, Bippy appeared in the doorway with a tell-tale _pop_. The house-elf carried a very pleased looking Drista in its arms.

Dream rolled his eyes. “Are you _seriously_ too lazy to take the stairs?”

The little girl merely giggled. “I like appawating!”

“Of _course_ you do, you weirdo,” Dream said sarcastically, turning to wave Bippy away dismissively. “You can go back downstairs, Bippy.”

Once the elf was gone, Drista tackled Dream in a hug.

“Oof—! _Careful_! You’re big enough that that actually hurt a bit!”

Schlatt eyed the siblings with a smile. “Hey, Drista,” he said, “I know I’m no Dream-boat, but I’m here too, ya know?”

Drista immediately turned around and gasped when she saw the other boy, apparently only just noticing his presence.

“SCHLATT!” she squealed, nearly tripping over herself in her excitement to greet the guest.

“Hey, kiddo!” Schlatt said fondly as he returned the little girl’s hug. “Haven’t seen ya since the summer. You look taller!”

“Yes! I am!” Drista nodded excitedly. “My birthday’s in...um…”

“April?” Dream said, suppressing a snort.

“Yes! Apwil! I’m gonna be _five!_ ”

“Wow!” Schlatt exclaimed. “That’s pretty old, kid.”

“I _know_! When I got four, Daddy gave me a bwoomstick! Wanna see?”

Schlatt shot Dream a curious glance. “You’re telling me this kid already has a broom? Dreamy, I’m thirteen and even _I_ don’t have my own broom.”

“It’s not a _real_ broom, you idiot. It’s just a toy.”

“It _is_ weal!” Drista insisted, stomping her foot for emphasis. “BIPPY! BWING ME MY BWOOM!”

The house-elf materialized seconds later with a tiny toy broomstick in its hand. It handed the toy to Drista and promptly disappeared again.

Drista displayed her miniature broomstick to Schlatt proudly. “See? It’s _pink_!”

“Yeah, I _do_ see that. Does it work?”

“Yes! Look, Schlatt, look!”

Drista proceeded to mount the little broom, which hovered magically two feet above the ground.

“I’m fwying!” Drista exclaimed happily.

“No, you’re not. You don’t even need _magic_ to use that thing. It’s just got a levitation charm on it.”

“Aw c’mon, Dream-boat, be nice, wontcha? The kid’s _flying_ , alright? And you know I can’t lie, so it’s true.” Schlatt said in the little girl’s defense.

“Yeah!” Drista cried, “Schlatt _always_ tells the truth! He’s not a _meenie_ like _you_!”

Dream stuck his tongue out at her, and she blew a raspberry in return.

“Why dontcha humor her, huh? Is it cuz you’re jealous you didn’t make the quidditch team?”

Dream shot his roommate a glare as Drista tumbled off her broom in a fit of giggles.

“ _No._ ” Dream huffed.

“Are you sure about that? Lying isn’t cool, Dream.”

“Okay, _whatever_.” He grumbled, before turning back to his sister. “Drista, I want to talk to Schlatt now, alright? _Alone_. Why don’t you go downstairs and bother Mom or something.”

Drista pouted and began to protest. “No fair! I want—”

“Just give us a few minutes, kid,” Schlatt cut in. “I promise I’ll play with you after Dream and I are done talking.”

Annoyed but seemingly satisfied with Schlatt’s promise, Drista turned around and stomped out of her brother’s room, forgetting her toy broomstick on his floor in the process. _Of course._

“You know, you don’t _have_ to be nice to her all the time,” Dream huffed.

“Well I _am_ kinda sleepin in her house—”

“You’re sleeping in _my_ house too. Does that mean you’re gonna be nice to _me_ all the time?” Dream cut in.

“Nah, I have to deal with you year-round. You don’t get any special treatment.”

“Wow. Way to show favoritism _._ Who are you, my parents?” Dream rolled his eyes.

Schlatt paused at that, but quickly recovered with a retort of his own. “Don’t pull the ‘ _my parents’_ card on me, Dream-boat, I have you beat,” he warned. “Are ya _tryin_ to get embarrassed, here?”

Dream muttered something incomprehensible under his breath. Schlatt _did_ have a point, there.

Dream hated when other people were right.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now, did you kick Drista outta here because you _actually_ had somethin to say, or can I go and hang out with her?”

“You’d rather hang out with a _four-year-old_ than with me?” Dream snickered.

Schlatt blew a breath out of his mouth, avoiding Dream’s eyes. “Listen, man, don’t make me say it out loud. Some things are better left unspoken.”

“Oh come _on_ ,” Dream scoffed, waiting for an actual answer. When none came, he sighed. “Whatever. I actually _did_ have something I wanted to talk about. You can go play with your friend after we’re done.”

“Alright, out with it then. Preferably _before_ her bedtime.”

Dream rolled his eyes, walking over to the window in between their beds and throwing it open. In an instant, a blast of sharp winter wind whipped past his head, its coldness eliciting a shiver from him and biting at his exposed limbs. Once the initial shock of the chill had passed, Dream poked his head out of the open window and considered the distance between him and the backyard floor.

“ _Dream!_ I’m gonna — I _might_ freeze my ass off if you don’t close that goddamn window!”

“I need a way to sneak out,” Dream said, ignoring Schlatt’s comment.

“Cool. Actually, _cold_. Very cold. Can we plan your prison break in a room with a closed window?”

“My dad’s not gonna let me out on Christmas, and I have to meet up with George. I spent _months_ figuring out what to get him for his Christmas present, and I’m _not_ letting it go to waste,” Dream continued.

“Of course you don’t have to let anything go to waste, buddy. Let’s close the window though, alright?”

“I can’t ask Bippy to apparate me out. If I do, I’ll get tattled on like last time. And I can’t use a broom, either, since a broom would be too big to fit out of a window and would attract too much attention.”

“Dream, I’m sure a lot of people would find this story _riveting_ , alright? But all _I’m_ finding is hypothermia in my near future if I stay in the cold for too long.”

“Do you think I could climb the walls of my house?”

“DREAM!” Schlatt yelled. “Listen, man, I have an idea, but if you don’t close the _goddamn_ window not only am I not gonna _tell_ it to you, but I’ll rat you out to both your parents and you’ll be on house arrest for _Merlin_ knows how long!”

The threat finally seemed to get Dream’s attention. The boy reached over and slammed the window shut, locking it into place.

“ _Finally_. Man, these robes are _not_ built for winter,” Schlatt shivered, rubbing his arms with his hands to generate some sort of heat.

Dream tilted his head at his roommate questioningly. “Why aren’t you wearing your winter robes, then?”

Schlatt shot him an unimpressed look in response. “Didn’t think I was in the presence of _Sherlock Holmes_. Here’s a hint, _detective_ : I’m fuckin _homeless._ ”

Dream blinked in surprise, too taken aback by his roommate’s bluntness to even consider asking who the hell Sherlock Holmes was. “Wh— but then what about last year? How— what did you do then?” he stammered.

“Well, I was _plannin_ on retrieving my cold weather wardrobe over winter break, so I kinda packed light before I got to school last year,” Schlatt explained. “ What I _hadn’t_ planned on, however, was our very own Sorting Hat deciding that I belonged with the snakes. So...yeah. I kinda missed out on my chance to go back home and get that winter gear.”

“So then last year you just, what, froze?”

“Layering does wonders, Dream-boat. Layering and that one scarf Minx got me.” Schlatt sighed. “Do you know how embarrassing it was to not have anything to give her in return? My parents cut me off completely!”

“W— well why didn’t you tell me?! I would’ve let you borrow some of my stuff if I’d known!”

“Oh yeah? How would that conversation’ve gone, huh? Lemme think. ‘Hey, Dream-boat, can I borrow some of your winter robes?’” Schlatt then cleared his throat and raised his voice in a mockery of Dream’s. “‘ _Sure thing, Schlatt! Hey, why do you need my clothes anyways? Don’t you have your own?_ ’ ‘Haha! Nope! I’m homeless!’ ‘ _Oh! Well that’s okay! Lots of people are!_ _I won’t even ask you any follow-up questions!_ _Here you go!_ ’ Is that how it would’ve gone, Dream?”

“I— I guess not, but you wouldn’t have had to say it like _that_ ,” Dream huffed.

“Oh c’mon, you know me. Why am I here if not for making inappropriately timed jokes?” Schlatt snickered. “I was okay, though. Hogwarts keeps the dorms nice and warm during the winter, so it wasn’t that bad.”  
  


“Right….” Dream trailed off, considering Schlatt’s words. The conversation suddenly made him realize that he hadn’t gotten Schlatt a Christmas present at all.

That would have to change soon.

“Well, enough about me. Time to talk about your escape plan!” Schlatt clasped his hands, rubbing them together expectantly. “Alright, so here’s how it goes. You know how in the movies when the main character hasta—”

“Schlatt, I hate to remind you, but I’ve never watched a movie in my entire life.”

Schlatt groaned, rolling his eyes. “God, what is the point of Davidson, anyway?! Does he teach you nothing?!”

“Hey! He gave me a camera and I took a bunch of non-moving pictures of my feet! And also _LEGOS_! That’s a _lot._ ”

“No, no, no, just shut up. Forget it. I’m gonna figure out how to get a job, first, and after that I’m treating all of you guys to a movie. I’ll steal one if I have to,” Schlatt declared.

Dream considered this for a moment. Maybe he should get Schlatt a movie for Christmas. He’d have to ask George about the details, but he figured it shouldn’t be _that_ hard.

“Forget it. Let’s get back to what I was saying before your _ignorance_ distracted me, _”_ he spat, glaring at his fellow Slytherin. “In movies, whenever the main character has to sneak outta their room without their parents knowing, they tie together a buncha sheets, alright? End to end, and it makes a rope that they can use to climb out their window and get to the ground.”

Dream glanced at Schlatt quizzically. “So... this is a common problem?”

“Probably not, but at least you have a solution now, right?” Schlatt shrugged, “Let’s see if you have enough sheets to pull this thing off.”

Just then, Bippy popped into existence between them, catching them both off guard.

“Master Clay asks that Master Clay and his friend come down for dinner!” the house-elf informed them expectantly, gesturing towards the door of Dream’s room.

“Can’t you just tell him we’re busy now? We’re in the middle of something,” Dream grumbled.

“Master Clay will be very cross with Master Clay if he does not come down immediately!” Bippy squeaked, ears flattening and shoulders sagging.

“Well, ‘Master Clay’ can go f—”

“ _Please,_ Master Clay! Whatever it is Master Clay and Mister Schlatt need, Bippy will do it for them! Bippy will put Master Clay and his friends’ things away while Master Clay and his friend go eat, Sir!”

Dream opened his mouth to argue with the house-elf again, but Schlatt cut him off.

“Ya know what? That sounds like a good plan. Thanks, Bippy. While you’re at it though, do ya think you can bring us some extra sheets ‘n blankets? You know how it is, winter ‘n all that, layering’s important.”

Bippy nodded fervently. “Yes, Mister Schlatt! Bippy will bring more sheets for you. Bippy will make sure that your room will not be cold, and if Bippy is not successful, Bippy will smash Bippy’s own ears in the cupboard!”

“Uh...you don’t have to do that, Bippy. Extra sheets _do_ sound great, though!!” Schlatt grinned, clapping a hand onto Dream’s shoulder and guiding him towards the door. “C’mon, Clay, it’s family dinner time!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the week that followed, Schlatt and Dream practiced the escape plan every single day.

True to its word, the house-elf brought them enough sheets to make a chain long enough to stretch all the way to the ground floor from Dream’s bedroom window. The boys used every spare moment they had to practice scaling the walls of the house.

At first, they tried to have Dream climb their makeshift rope on his own. However, they soon discovered that the upper body strength of a twelve year old was not enough to accomplish the task at hand. After many failed attempts, the boys finally managed to solve the problem through a combination of Schlatt tugging on the rope and Dream scaling the wall with his feet.

“Dream-boat, if I wake up tomorrow with sore arms, I might just hafta let you figure out a way to get back in by yourself,” Schlatt groaned, flexing his arms painfully.

“Oh, stop complaining. I’m helping you build muscle.” Dream rolled his eyes, rubbing at his own sore palms. He hadn’t expected the bedsheet rope to be so hard on his hands.

“C’mon. Do I really need _another_ reason for Minx to be all over me?” Schlatt snickered. “Picture this: I come into the Slytherin common room first thing after break, all jacked, screaming ‘Merry Christmas’ and tackling Minx to the ground. Do you think that’ll make up for not giving her a gift last year?”

“I think you might not live to see another Christmas if you do that,” Dream replied.

“Ha! She doesn’t have what it takes to beat this future super jacked version of myself.”

“I think it’ll take more than two weeks of winter break to get you ‘jacked’ enough to beat Minx. I swear I heard her rehearsing the Unforgivable Curses under her breath the last time you pissed her off.”

Schlatt snickered. “Yeah, I can never tell who’s gonna get expelled first: Minx for finally snapping and _Cruciatus-_ ing me, or Quackity for screwin around all the time.”

“Oh, is screwing around just a Gryffindor first-year thing? Do they all do that?” Dream chuckled, thinking of Sapnap.

Schlatt nodded. “Yup, except mine’s not dumb. The kid’s a genius, but at this point I’m not sure if he’s spent more time with me or with Filch.”

“I don’t like what you’re implying about Sapnap,” Dream said, raising his eyebrow at Schlatt.

“If I had any cash, Dream-boat, I’d bet _money_ that my first-year could beat up your first-year.”

“No, no. We shouldn’t make them fight each other.” Dream shook his head and bit his lip contemplatively. “Let me know a time and a place, and we’ll schedule a playdate for them, instead.”

“Dude, they probably sleep in the same goddamn room.”

“Oh yeah?” Dream grinned, suddenly remembering something, “I bet _your_ first-year would ask _my_ first-year for winter robes if he ever became homeless.”

“Awww COME ON!” Schlatt cried, punching Dream in the shoulder as the blond was reduced to a fit of wheezing laughter. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Stop laughing! You think this is a joke? You think you’re funny?”

“You can’t even say that it’s _not_!” Dream wheezed.

“It’s—! Oh my _god_. _I_ don’t think it’s—!” Schlatt stammered, struggling to get past his curse. “What the hell?! This isn’t a jo—! _Fuck!_ ”

Dream’s contagious laughter grew even stronger at that, coughing and wheezing and collapsing to the ground until Schlatt finally gave up and joined in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You owe me _big time_ for this, Dream,” Schlatt grumbled, pulling the blanket over his shoulders around him tightly as Dream opened the window and threw their rope chain out of it. “Do you realize how hard it’s gonna be to cover for you all day when I can’t even lie?!”

“I’ll be home soon, don’t worry. You’re smart, you’ll figure it out,” Dream replied absently, tucking his gift to George into his coat.

Schlatt grabbed hold of the other end of the chain, huffing at Dream’s nonchalance. “I’m not stayin up for more than an hour, you hear me? If you come back any later than that, you’re stuck in the backyard until one o’ your parents is up to let you in.”

“Right, right.” Dream nodded, already lifting himself out the window.

"I'm serious! I can't lie to you, Dream. It's gonna happen."

"I believe you!" Dream called up to him, already halfway down to the backyard.

Dream questioned his idea of sneaking out as soon as he had both feet on the snowy ground. Hopefully, his parents wouldn’t notice the huge tracks leading away from his bedroom window.

After double-checking to make sure George’s gift was securely in place, Dream picked up a handful of snow and began the short walk to his best friend’s house. By the time he finally made it close enough to throw the snowball at George’s bedroom window, his fingers were so numb with the cold that he couldn’t feel the digits at all.

After his first snowball received no response, Dream huffed and began making a bigger one. _If this one doesn’t get his attention, maybe I’ll just have to find a rock instead,_ he thought.

Luckily for his frozen fingers, George opened his window just as Dream hurled the snowball into the air. The unfortunate timing, however, meant that the snowball pelted the other boy directly in the face, causing him to sputter and trip over himself hilariously.

And, just like that, any regrets Dream had about waking up at the "ass crack of dawn," as Schlatt had put it, dissipated.

Dream had been worried that his gift wouldn’t work. He’d been worried that George would take one look at the dorky white frames and wrinkle his nose up in disgust. A large part of Dream even worried that George might be insulted by Dream trying to “fix” his vision.

As it turned out, all of Dream’s fears had been for nothing. George _loved_ the goggles. The smile that graced his face when he donned them for the first time was proof enough that Dream had chosen the right gift.

That smile, _god._ That smile was worth a thousand numb fingers and runny noses. Dream would suffer severe bedsheet burns on his palms for as long as he lived if it meant that he got to exchange stupid yet heartfelt gifts with his best friend every year.

Dream couldn’t even bring himself to care when Schlatt made fun of the dumb little smiley face plush when he got home, because George’s gift _was_ dumb. It was dumb, and Dream loved it anyway.

“You better tuck that thing away if you don’t want Drista touching it,” Schlatt warned when Dream set the little doll on his bedside table.

“Oh, believe me, I know. Finding some sort of little sister repelling charm is at the top of my to-do list.”

Just then, Bippy materialized in his room and requested their presence downstairs for breakfast.

Christmas was never really a huge deal in the Selwyn household. Dream’s parents usually got him and Drista whatever they wanted year round, so the kids didn't exactly need a special gift-giving day. A seasonal breakfast and little gift exchange by the Christmas tree was just about the extent of their celebration.

Drista was already in the living room when the two Slytherin boys clambered downstairs. Unfortunately for them, Dream’s mom immediately noticed her son’s disheveled appearance and the dark bags under Schlatt’s eyes.

"Goodness, what happened to you two?" Dreams mother asked, frowning at their appearance. "Clay, what have you done?"

"Wh— I didn't do anything!" Dream cried.

"Dear, what did he do to you?" she asked Schlatt, ignoring her son's protests.

"Ah, Dream opened a window at a time when he _probably_ shouldn't have," Schlatt replied, gritting his teeth in a way that meant that Dream double-owed him one.

" _Clay!_ It's below freezing outside!"

"I know! I'm sorry, I didn't think it would be that bad," Dream apologized.

"Don't let it happen again or there'll be magical locks on your window soon," his mother warned. Dream gulped, knowing that she'd go through with it if she had to. "Now come unwrap your gifts so we can get you some warm drinks and maybe a Pepperup Potion."

Dream grinned and sat down next to Drista, who was already tearing open a large parcel. Dream reached blindly under the tree and pulled out a green box, making to tear off the wrapping paper, but his mom smacked him on the wrist before he could.

" _Ow_!"

"Merlin, Clay, can't you read? Pay attention before you go tearing away at gifts that aren't yours!" she admonished.

"Wh— this is for _Drista_? I thought you always wrap _my_ gifts in green wrapping paper." The name at the corner of the gift caught his eye, then, and Dream gasped. "Schlatt?! It's for you!"

Schlatt, who had previously been shifting uncomfortably in his spot while two siblings tore open their gifts, looked up in shock. "Who, me?"

"No, the _other_ Schlatt," Dream said sarcastically, holding the gift out towards his roommate.

"Alright, alright, I— I'll take it, I guess." Schlatt took the box in his hands hesitantly, shooting Mrs. Selwyn a questioning look.

"Well, go on," she urged him. "It has _your_ name on it."

Schlatt closed his mouth, nodding. "Fair enough," he said with a shrug, tearing off the wrapping paper in one fluid motion.

Inside the box were three winter robes, folded neatly on top of each other.

"Clothes?" Dream asked, crinkling his nose in distaste.

" _Winter_ clothes…" Schlatt trailed off, looking up at Mrs. Selwyn, who was smiling at him. "How'd you know?"

"Oh, Bippy commented that you only had summer robes in your belongings. It simply wouldn't do for a guest of ours to catch a cold over break, now would it?"

"I got a pwesent fo you too!" Drista exclaimed, holding out a very obviously plushie-shaped lump of wrapping paper.

"Aw, Drista, ya didn't—"

"Open!" she commanded, ignoring him and shaking the gift fervently.

He sighed, reaching to take it from her hand when the toy suddenly slipped cleanly out of the wrapping paper. Everyone looked down as one of Drista’s favorite baby dolls landed face-up on the floor.

"Oh my god, it's Baby Yuto!" Schlatt gasped.

"Yes!" Drista yelled, throwing the wrapping paper to the side and picking up the doll. "I know he's youw favowite, so he's youws now!"

"Wow. This is— this is really great, thank you," Schlatt sniffled, watching as Drista placed the baby doll into his clothing box. "I— I'm sorry I didn't getcha anything this year, alright?! Next year I'll uh..I'll try to find some sorta job, maybe I—"

"No need," Selwyn cut in smoothly, materializing suddenly out of nowhere. His father had the cleanest apparitions of any wizard Dream had ever seen. "I have decided, Jebediah, that you will receive a weekly allowance for as long as you stay under my roof."

"Wh— no! I can't take— I _won't_ take money from you guys! That— you're already lettin me stay here, that's more than enough."

Selwyn waved him off. "I won't hear of it. Call it what you will, a Christmas present, or payment for entertaining my children during your stay, whichever you prefer. A young wizard such as yourself need not concern himself with employment."

"Wait, you're giving Schlatt _babysitter_ money as a Christmas present?!" Dream cried.

"Oh, hush, you!" his mother snapped, slapping him on the back of the head.

" _Ow_!"

"Aw, geez, I really don't know what to say…." Schlatt trailed off, glancing down at the gift pile with a wobbly smile, "I don't wanna get all lame here…"

"You may be excused to put your gifts away," Mrs. Selwyn nodded, waving him off towards the stairs.

As Schlatt's figure retreated back to their room and Dream rubbed the back of his head painfully, Drista giggled. "Youw just jealous he gets mow money dan you!"

"That's not true!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream didn’t know he’d been thinking when he told George he’d run a test for him.

Maybe he hadn’t been thinking at all. In that moment, he knew only two things: one, he hated the terrified expression on George’s face, and two, he would do everything in his power to never see it again.

Dream needed answers. _Straightforward_ answers. No guesses, no vague suspect lists that led nowhere. Just answers. And as much as Dream hated the thought of what he was about to do, he knew there was only one person who was _guaranteed_ to give him those answers.

If Schlatt knew _anything_ about the strange Muggle-born attacks, Dream would soon know it, too.

 _He’s gonna hate you,_ a part of his brain told him.

 _He’ll understand,_ the other part of his brain shot back. _There are real lives at stake._

The climb up to his bedroom window that night was awful, his guilt weighing him down more than his body ever could.

"Good grief, Dream,” Schlatt huffed, rotating his arm stiffly after he shut the window and plopped down onto his bed. “Maybe lose a few pounds if you're gonna keep doing this, eh? This whole routine feels like a goddamn workout."

Dream gulped, averting his eyes and shrugging off his coat. "Listen, I had to cut my meeting short today.”

"Aw yeah? What for? Didja get tired of Davidson already, or did you just miss me too much?"

 _Please don’t joke, Schlatt_ , he pleaded internally. _You’re just gonna make it worse._

"Stop. This is serious, okay?" Dream said, finally meeting his roommates' eyes.

Schlatt paused, lowering his arms slowly, the serious tone catching him off guard. "Oh, alright then, let's hear it."

Dream sighed, turning away for a moment to place his gloves on his nightstand.

 _Just say it. Schlatt will understand eventually. You_ need _answers._

"I..." He gulped, hesitating. The action was enough for the curious expression on Schlatt’s face to morph into one of disbelief, because _of course_ the other boy could guess where this was going.

"Dream, don't you dare," he warned. “You promised you wouldn’t use it against me.”

"I'm sorry, but I have to. I-I promised George."

"Well, what the hell didja promise him that you need to do this _now_?!" Schlatt yelled, standing up from the bed.

"I— I need you to—"

"What the hell, Dream!? Why is your promise to him more important than your promise to _me_?!"

"Schlatt," Dream said firmly, looking at his friend squarely in the eyes, mouth opening to say the words. “Tell me the truth.”

In an instant, the incredulous, indignant look on his friend’s face melted away, turning into one of...disappointment? Sadness? Dream couldn’t really tell, but, then again, he didn’t really want to know.

Dream took a deep breath before asking the first question on his mind. “Tell me the truth. Back in our first year, did you tell anyone about the duel between me and Techno?”

“No.” Schlatt answered immediately.

Dream narrowed his eyes and decided to rephrase. “Fine, then. Did you, in any way, let anyone know about the duel between me and Techno?”

“I—” Schlatt’s voice cracked, but he was unable to tear his eyes away from Dream’s gaze. “I did.”

Immediately, Dream tensed, dread pooling in his gut. “What?!” he cried, grabbing Schlatt by the shoulders, “I-I thought— you _told_ me before that you didn’t tell anyone!”

“I didn’t tell anyone _directly_ , not through words! I wrote it to her in a note.”

Dream paused, gears in his head turning. “You wrote it to _her_? Who’s _her_?”

“Minx, goddamnit! I know you said you didn’t want anyone else to know, but I _trust_ her, Dream. I trust Minx.”

“Wh— why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Because I knew you’d be suspicious of her! I knew you were up to something as soon as you asked me about the duel, and I wanted to protect her!”

“That’s not a good reason to hide it from me, Schlatt, and you know it.”

“You don’t get it, Selwyn,” Schlatt spat, eyes furious. “Minx was the only one who was there for me when I was disowned. She joked around with me and gave me gifts on Christmas and celebrated my birthday with me when I had _no one else_. She…” he gulped, clearly hesitant to continue.

“She _what,_ Schlatt!”

“She’s the first person I told when my parents died over the summer.”

Dream went quiet, then, eyes widening in disbelief.

“Your parents—”

“Are _dead_ , yeah. I’m a fuckin orphan, Dream. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Dream suddenly felt sick to his stomach. “Stop. I’ve heard enough. Stop.”

Just like that, the curse broke. Schlatt immediately slapped Dream’s hands off his shoulders.

“Well?! Was it fucking worth it?!” he spat, pushing the other boy away. “Huh?! Tell me! Was it worth it?!”

“I— I didn’t mean to— I didn’t know—”

“Of _course_ you didn’t know! I didn’t _want_ you to know! That was the whole point of my boundaries!” he yelled, balling his fists. “You— don’t just _choose_ when you want to respect me, Clay! Either be my friend or _don’t_ , but at least try to be goddamn consistent!”

“I— I’m sorry, it was for a good cause! I was trying—!”

Schlatt laughed humorlessly at that and shook his head. “Oh, a good cause?! ‘ _I promised George’_ is a good enough cause for you?! Do you know how much of an _asshole_ you sound like right now?!” Schlatt raised his fists, desperately looking like he wanted to punch Dream in the face. Dream screwed his eyes shut and braced himself for the blow—

—only to be met with a halfhearted push to the chest.

Schlatt’s shoulders sagged. “I’m not gonna hurt you, Dream,” he whispered. “I just don’t get it. I’ve always had _so_ much respect for you. Why can’t you just respect me, too?”

Dream bit his lip, keeping his eyes on the ground. He didn’t know what to say.

Schlatt sighed and turned away. “You already broke one of my promises, but please. _Please_ promise me you aren’t gonna do anything to Minx, alright? Whatever plans you have, whatever interrogations, whatever _anything_ — just leave her out of it.”

Dream nodded. This had been a terrible idea.

“I’m gonna go downstairs,” he said, turning away from his roommate and towards the door. “Tell Davidson whatever you want, I don’t c— I can’t take it back now, anyway. What’s one more person knowing my secrets?”

“I— I won’t tell him,” Dream stammered. “I’m not— I wouldn’t do that.”

Schlatt chuckled wryly. “I’m not sure I believe that, Dreamy. _I_ may not be able to lie, but you…well. _You_ definitely can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to AO3 statistics...you know the drill. Please please please leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed! We're addicted to those notifications. The comments really do make our day and push us to keep writing this thing.
> 
> See you next update!
> 
> ken & grass


	14. Chapter Fourteen || Year Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George's second year at Hogwarts comes to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! We're back at it with another magical chapter. This time, it was ME (ken) who got carried away! Muahahaha! I, too, can write many words!
> 
> (she says even though it takes her 2 hours to write what grass can write in 20 minutes)  
> (I'm too nitpicky lol just read the chapter)

Christmas that year had been George’s favorite by far.

So many wonderful things happened over the break. He’d gotten to spend time with his parents _and_ Dream, which had been wonderful. He’d seen the world in full color for the first time, which had been _indescribable_. But, best of all, he finally felt like he could relax around his friends again.

“You don’t have to worry about any of them, George,” Dream had assured him when George brought up the mysterious “test” after the holiday.

“Are you—”

“I’m _sure_ ,” the Slytherin had insisted, green eyes serious. “I’m confident that you have nothing to worry about. Just believe me, please.”

And George did. George believed in Dream because he trusted him more than anyone in the world. If Dream was confident that there was nothing to worry about, then George wouldn’t worry.

For once, George held in the multitude of questions that were on the tip of his tongue and let the matter rest. His friend seemed like he didn’t want to go into detail on the matter, so he dropped it.

It was the biggest relief to finally have the burden of worry lifted from his shoulders. It meant that, come early January, he was _finally_ able to greet all of his friends on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters with a total, genuine smile on his face.

For the first time since he and Dream had deciphered the hitlist, George felt free.

The train ride to Hogwarts was filled with loud chatter as the group of friends exchanged stories from their holidays.

"You know, Schlatt,” Wilbur said with a grin, throwing an arm around the Slytherin who was sidled up next to him. “I actually have a Christmas present for you."

Schlatt looked genuinely surprised by Wil’s statement. "What the hell'd you go and do _that_ for?" he groaned, swatting at the Ravenclaw’s arm. “I don’t have anything to give you back!”

"Oh, don't worry. You don't need to give me anything," Wilbur waved him off. "Techno actually helped me out with it, so it wasn’t even all _my_ doing."

"Wh—?!"

"Let it be known that my participation was completely involuntary," Technoblade grumbled.

"Oh, come _on_ , don't say that. You helped!" Wilbur admonished.

"Wil, you sent a whole _flock_ of owls to my house on the first day of break,” Techno pointed out. “Where does a man even _get_ so many owls?"

"A true gentleman never reveals his secrets."

"Well, what’s the present?" Sapnap asked impatiently.

"The present was Wilbur invitin’ himself over to my house and forcin’ us to watch Shrek," Techno replied in a monotone voice. "That's it."

"Wilbur!" Schlatt gasped. "You watched Shrek for me? Really?"

Wilbur nodded proudly. "I realized how important he was to you, and since I knew Techno watched the movie already, I figured I’d just make him watch it with me.”

Sapnap huffed and crossed his arms. “Your surprise Christmas present to him was just...you watching a movie. Without him. That's so lame.”

“Oh, shut it, Knapsack, I love it!” Schlatt retorted, pretending to wipe a tear from his eyes as he slapped Wilbur on the back, “Well, how was it?!"

"It was lovely. Movies are such a brilliant invention!"

"An even more brilliant invention than pens?" George snickered.

Wilbur looked scandalized by the question. "Bloody hell, Gogi, don't even joke about that! Of _course_ not! Did you know that there are some pens which contain _multiple colors_ inside of them _?!_ "

Techno groaned. "He raided our stationary when he came over. I turned around for _one second_ to find the Shrek CD, and when I looked back there were no pens left on my desk. All of them: gone. Not even the women and children were saved."

Wilbur nodded without an ounce of shame. "After the Shrek, Claire drove us to a place called _Paperchase!_ Gogi, you wouldn’t believe it, it’s an _entire_ store dedicated to selling stationery!"

George raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that just an office supply chain?”

"Yep,” Technoblade sighed. “Mom offered to drive us somewhere cool, like an arcade, but instead we went to look at _school supplies_. And as if that wasn’t fun enough, she ended up having to ask the staff to use the store loudspeaker because Wilbur got himself lost."

"I _told you_ I would be with the pens!" Wilbur rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, in the actual _store_ area. You're not supposed to go into the back warehouse, Wilbur, that's for employees only."

"Well, I didn't know—"

"It says it on the doors right before you walk in!" Techno cried, "Ya can't miss it! Big red letters, right on the door!"

"It's an easy mistake, Techno. I'm sure I’m not the first to be confused," Wilbur sighed.

"Wil, I think you’re illiterate."

" _Hey._ I’m not Muggle-born, alright? I didn’t grow up around stationery stores like you lot."

"Firstly: not Muggle-born. Second, I know for a _fact_ that no Muggle child would climb into a random delivery truck and almost get sent halfway across the country because they got stuck under a crate o’ pens.”

"Oh, pish. Could’ve happened to anybody.”

"When the workers went lookin’ for ya, they were expectin you to be a _toddler_. Not a _thirteen-year-old_."

"You know, Techno, the staff _did_ treat me quite rudely when they found me. I’ve half a mind to file a complaint."

"You can't file a complaint, Wil. You're permanently banned from that store."

George laughed along with the rest of their group as Wilbur continued to insist he was a victim of “corporate pen mismanagement.” Even Dream, who still favored quills most of the time, cracked a smile at the curly haired boy’s antics.

Eventually, the boisterous conversation quieted down as a lot of the friends either fell asleep or went off to visit their friends in other compartments. George occupied himself by admiring the scenery outside the window in full color for the first time.

“Is it prettier now?” Dream asked quietly, nudging George with his elbow.

George hummed, taking the glasses off for a few moments before putting them back on and shrugging.

“In a way, it is,” he said eventually. “I can see all sorts of new colors now, but sometimes I think it’s quite...confusing.”

“Really?” Dream asked, surprised.

“Yeah. For instance, I think _my_ blue is prettier than yours. When there are all sorts of other colors to keep track of, it can be hard to focus on the best ones.”

Dream paused, seemingly contemplating George’s answer.

“Well,” he said eventually, “how would you know what the best colors are if you couldn’t even see most of them before?”

George turned around to look at his friend at that, meeting his gaze. He hadn’t noticed before, but with his new glasses on he could see that Dream’s green eyes actually had flecks of darker yellow in the center.

“Hm,” he said, face heating up. “Maybe you have a point.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once everyone had settled back in at Hogwarts, time passed rather quickly.

All things considered, George had done fairly well on his December assessments. He’d managed to score full marks on his History of Magic exam against all odds, which somewhat made up for the fact that he’d failed DADA.

“Oh, shut _up_ ,” Dream huffed in the library one day as George was going over his assessment results. “This is why no one likes Ravenclaws. You got a _seventy-six_ , George.”

“I _know!_ That’s _barely_ an ‘Exceeds Expectations!’”

“...you suck.”

“I _know_ ,” George groaned, burying his head in his hands. “Professor Travers must hate me,” he mumbled.

Sapnap perked up from his spot at their table and shot Dream a devious glance. “Yo, Dream, what did _you_ get?”

Dream immediately shoved his exam results in his bag.

“Aww, c’mon Dream, I told you what _I_ got in DADA,” Sapnap whined.

“Yeah, and no one asked you. _Plus_ you’re a first-year.”

“So?”

“So your tests are easy and no one cares what you got.”

Sapnap huffed indignantly and crossed his arms. “ _Lame._ I bet you failed.”

“Did not.”

“What’s the percentage, then?’”

Dream looked away and then muttered something under his breath.

“What, Dream?” Sapnap teased. “You’re gonna have to speak up, dude.”

The Slytherin shot Sapnap a glare.

“I said, fifty-two.”

It was George’s turn to gasp and shoot Dream a disbelieving look.

“ _Fifty-two_? But...Dream! You’re actually _good_ at DADA!”

Dream shrugged. “Hey, I passed. You _know_ I don’t really care about tests.”

“B-but still! I didn’t know you were at risk of _failing_. Blimey, Dream, I could have helped you study!”

“Nah,” Dream said, waving away George’s concerns. “You already had plenty of stuff to worry about. Can we ditch this place and go down to the Great Hall, already? I’m hungry.”

George rolled his eyes. “I literally _just_ watched you eat a Cauldron Cake on your way to the library.”

“I’m a growing boy, George. I need food. Are you coming or not?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Slytherin vs Ravenclaw quidditch match was scheduled for the third weekend in February, and the House rivalries became noticeably more apparent as the weeks went on.

Minx, for one, insisted on violating the school dress code by wearing bright green robes to all of her classes and then acting offended when professors took away House Points. George learned the hard way that he was not allowed to laugh when this happened; when he’d accidentally let out a chuckle after Professor Borealis reprimanded the girl in Muggle Studies, George had been mysteriously hit with a Bat-Bogey Hex and the whole class had to pause while Borealis cast the counter-spell.

Techno and GB80 were rarely in the Great Hall anymore. The two quidditch players were always either off practicing or strategizing with their teammates, leaving George wondering how on earth they got any homework done for their classes.

“Why does everyone seem so much more excited for this match?” George wondered out loud one day during lunch. Dream snorted while Minx just looked at George from across the table like he was the biggest idiot to roam the earth.

“What are ya, a moron?! This match could determine the whole fuckin cup!” she cried, viciously stabbing a potato on her plate. George winced and shuffled a little closer to Dream on the bench.

“I-I thought there were still _four matches_ left, though…” the Ravenclaw stuttered, confused.

“Gogi, think about it,” Wilbur cut in. “Since Slytherin and Ravenclaw both won their respective first matches, whoever wins this match will have a _huge_ advantage going into the rest of the cup. The winner of this round will be the winner of the winners!”

“—which is why Slytherin is gonna crush you guys,” Dream commented, earning eye rolls from the Ravenclaws and smirks from the Slytherins.

“Mate, have you _seen_ Techno fly? The man rides a Cleansweep and _still_ flies faster than anyone else on the pitch,” Wilbur responded.

“Yeah, but he’ll have to _stay_ on his broom if he wants to score any goals, Wil,” Schlatt pointed out. “One bludger from GB80 and the kid’ll be outta the running. Slytherin’s got this one in the bag.”

Predictably, the rest of the conversation consisted solely of heated quidditch commentary, which George found to be a bit boring after a while. Dream eventually nudged him and nodded towards the door, an unspoken question in his eyes.

George nodded and stood up from the table, Dream following suit wordlessly. Their friends were so absorbed in their debate that they hardly even noticed their departure. The only exception being Schlatt, who eyed them both silently as they walked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No Slytherins were allowed at the Ravenclaw table on the day of the quidditch match.

Not even Philza's influence was enough to make the other Ravenclaw prefects turn a blind eye to the rivals in their midst. Dream, Schlatt, and Minx had been immediately booed by every Ravenclaw in the vicinity when they approached wearing their green paraphernalia. To be fair, Philza hadn’t tried _that_ hard to persuade the other prefects to leave them alone; the sixth-year had quite the competitive streak of his own when it came to House cups. Even for Philza, fraternizing with the enemy was off the table. Literally.

The tension between the blue and green houses was so thick that George couldn’t believe it when he saw Technoblade stand up from their table and take several steps towards the Slytherin table.

“Er, Techno?” he called out to his roommate, who paused and stared back at George blankly.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you, a Ravenclaw chaser, about to walk towards the Slytherin table?”

Eret paused his eating to gaze at Techno in shock.

“Wait, what’s this lad doing? Techno, are you _mad_? They’ll eat you alive!” he exclaimed.

Techno just shrugged his shoulders. “I’m just gonna head off n’ make sure Gémure-Boye is fed," he said nonchalantly, holding up a plate piled high with breakfast food.

The other Ravenclaw boys were understandably confused. "Techno, that's the enemy," Eret said, eyeing the plate wearily. "Aren't you all about crushing victories? Why would you _help_ the other team?"

"I know what I'm doin’, Eret," Techno replied, stacking another plate on top of the food pile to prevent it from toppling over. "Merlin himself once said: 'Build your opponent a golden bridge to retreat across.' If I'm gonna win, I want GB to know that I gave him every possible advantage beforehand. I will lull him into a false sense of fidelity n' then — _BAM_! I’ll destroy the man. After he loses, he'll have no choice but to admit my quidditch superiority! After all, I will have had no advantage: we will have eaten the same food _and_ had the same trainin’! My plan is foolproof!"

Eret blinked in surprise at the speech, glancing back down at his plate. "Alright, then. Looks like you know what you’re doing."

"I _do_! See, when I give him this plate I'll tell him: 'Enjoy your meal, buddy. Don't eat too much or you'll get sick.' This’ll plant a seed of doubt in his mind!"

Eret nodded along, growing more concerned for his roommate's mental health by the second. “But, Techno, how will that—”

“Well, I’m glad you asked! You see, he'll think I poisoned the food with somethin’ to make him sick, so he'll be hesitant to eat it! But it's either _this_ plate or the food on his table, and he _knows_ this food is better. So then he’ll have this perfectly good breakfast in front of him, but his _mind_ , Eret. His mind’s gonna tear him apart. He won't know if the risk is worth the reward, and his inner conflict will _destroy him_."

"Mate, I'm so glad the Sorting Hat settled on Ravenclaw in the end," Wilbur chuckled. "You're downright terrifying."

They watched Techno walk up to the Slytherin beater and hold a short conversation. When Techno returned to the Ravenclaw table a few minutes later with a disgruntled expression, it was clear that his attempts at psychological warfare had not gone as he’d hoped.

“What happened, then?” Eret asked the disappointed chaser.

“Gémure-Boye didn’t wait for me to say my line,” Techno grumbled. “He inhaled half the plate before I had a chance to say anythin’ to him.”

Wilbur laughed, standing up to pat Techno on the back. “Well, mate, you tried. Now how about you head off to the changing rooms or whatever while the rest of us find some blue face paint before the game?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the students were finally released to go occupy the stands, George was nearly trampled by the stampede of people all rushing to claim the best seats possible. Among the Slytherin supporters, he noticed Minx attempting to wrestle Quackity, the Gryffindor first-year, into bright green robes. The first-year was crying out for help, but George wasn’t foolish enough to intervene in Minx’s affairs and he shuffled away as fast as possible.

As the three roommates scoured the Ravenclaw stands for good seats, Wilbur suddenly spotted Philza in the fourth row and quickly made a beeline for the prefect.

“Ah, Philza! Bless your beautiful soul! Are those three empty seats I see?” Wilbur called out as the three roommates approached. Philza grinned in response and waved the second-years over.

"Why, yes, Wil, indeed they are. In fact, they're honorary seats for th' star players' roommates," Phil declared.

“How’d you manage to keep _three entire seats_ empty?" Eret asked curiously.

Philza leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially. “I may or may not have charmed them to bite the arses of anyone who isn't you. Ya didn’t hear it from me, though, yeah?"

Wilbur laughed while George and Eret exchanged a nervous look.

"That sounds….illegal," George muttered.

"Don't be such a downer, Gogi! Philza Magic protected these seats for us!" Wilbur cried, slapping George on the shoulder. "You should be thankful!"

“I didn’t say I _wasn’t_ thankful. I just said—”

George didn’t get to finish his sentence because Wilbur chose that moment to plop himself down into one of the seats, which bit him immediately. The curly haired boy screamed in agony and clutched his bottom.

Philza burst into laughter. "Okay, okay, I couldn’t resist doin’ that jus’ once," he coughed out, waving his wand to remove the charm from the seats. "I thought it'd be funny, and I was right. That was hilarious."

"Philza!” Wilbur groaned as he tried to get a look at his injury. "That bloody hurt!"

The prefect waved his hand dismissively and stood up from his seat. "Put some ice on it, Wil, and you'll be fine."

"Kiss it better!"

"Aaaand that's my cue to leave. I'm out! Enjoy the game, boys."

"Wait, Phil, don’t leave us yet!"

"Have fun!"

With that, Philza Magic disappeared into the crowd.

"That wasn't funny," Wilbur grumbled.

"It was _kind_ of funny," Eret snickered, taking the seat to Wilbur’s right. "Looks like the seats are safe now, so you two can probably sit down."

George shrugged and took the seat beside Eret. Wilbur just pouted and crossed his arms.

"You lot can take the seats, I've been traumatized,” he sniffed. "I'm sitting on the floor."

"Won't that just make your injury worse?" Eret asked.

"Let me be dramatic, Eret, please."

Five students proceeded to trip over Wilbur before the boy finally relented and took the seat.

George checked his watch. The game wasn't supposed to be starting for another fifteen minutes, but just about everyone was already in the stands. Around him, people were placing bets and putting finishing touches on signs. A certain Gryffindor a few rows over was selling snacks for five times their regular price while Bad trailed behind him and asked him to stop.

George wondered what was happening in the Slytherin stands. Dream was probably dressed from head to toe in Slytherin paraphernalia by now, knowing Minx. Hopefully someone had been able to dissuade her from bringing powder bombs to the game again.

Just then, George saw something long and fluffy brush against Wilbur’s face. Wilbur seemed too preoccupied with his own thoughts to pay it much attention, though, so all the curly haired boy did was swat it away absently with his hand.

George quirked an eyebrow when the mysterious fluffy thing brushed against his roommate a second time. The thing was bushy and orange in color from what George could tell through his corrective glasses, but it had a white tip at the end. Kind of like...a fox tail?

No, it was too big to be a fox tail. Besides, how would a fox have even gotten into the stands?

The tail kept moving back and forth in front of Wilbur’s face. Eventually, George _had_ to say something.

"Um, Wilbur? I think you're in the way of something."

Wilbur perked his head up at the use of his name, getting a faceful of tail in the process. Wilbur’s expression became puzzled as he regarded the odd furry thing in front of him.

"Oh! Well, what's _this_?" he exclaimed, eyes following the tail’s movements.

"Um, it _looks_ like a fox tail, but—"

"A fox!” Wilbur’s eyes lit up in excitement. “Oh, I love foxes! They’re so adorable! D’you think I can pet it?"

George opened his mouth, about to caution his friend, but Wilbur was already excitedly reaching out to grab the fluffy tail before he could say anything.

Wilbur’s fingers curled around the tail and tugged a bit. Instantly, the appendage started to twitch in discomfort, squirming in Wilbur’s grip.

"It's so soft!" he gasped, petting the fur in spite of the tail’s clear escape attempts. "George, this fox has _brilliant_ fur care! Do you think foxes know how to use conditioners?"

"Hey, um, sorry to _interrupt_ , but do you mind?" somebody coughed out in front of them.

The boys turned to glance at the speaker while the tail continued it's attempted escape. In front of them sat an odd-looking Hufflepuff boy. The student had bright orange hair with white patches in it and was staring at them with brown eyes so light in color that they almost looked yellow. The boy’s lips were pulled back in an uncomfortable grimace, revealing a set of sharp teeth.

"Pardon?" Wilbur asked, moving to pet the tail again.

"No! Ugh, the _tail_! Stop! Stop _touching_!" the Hufflepuff boy cried, snatching the furry appendage out of Wilbur’s hand and hugging it close to his chest. "You’re not even petting in the direction of the growth, man! You messed it all up!"

"Wh— that's mine! Find your own fox to pet, mate!" Wilbur yelled, pulling the tail back and eliciting a scream from the Hufflepuff.

"No! It's _literally_ mine! Stop pulling it! That's _attached_ to me!"

Wilbur rolled his eyes. "Pff, yeah, nice try. You don't exactly _look_ like a bloody fox."

"Oh _really?_ I don't look like a fox?"

"Plenty of people have red hair, mate, you're not special," Wilbur snickered. "Wasn't there a whole family of 'em at this school at one point?"

"Well, did those other redheads also have fangs? Did they have this… black, wet nose thing? Claws!?" He wiggled his fingers around, showing off the long, thin nails attached at the ends of black hands.

"Oh wow, those are cool," Eret whistled appreciatively.

"I— uh, thanks," muttered the Hufflepuff, his tone taking on an embarrassed note at the compliment. The boy raked his claws through his hair, causing a set of black tipped ears to pop out from the top of his head, much to everyone else’s astonishment.

"Merlin's beard! You've got fox ears!" Wilbur cried, finally releasing the tail in his hands. "Why didn't you start with those?!"

"Well, you didn't believe this was my tail!" the fox boy cried, pulling his tail towards him and stroking the fur back into its correct position.

"Yeah, because the tail isn't right on your _bloody_ head!" Wilbur yelled back, wiping his hands on his robes frantically. "Oh, I'm so sorry, uh, I— how do I even apologize for this?"

"I think 'sorry I grabbed your tail, I didn't know it was attached to you' sounds about right," George supplied.

"Right, sorry I grabbed your tail, uh…." Wilbur furrowed his eyebrows. "Wait, what's your name?" he asked.

"Wow, Wilbur, you just touched a kid’s tail without even knowing his name?" Eret chuckled.

"He _pet_ my tail and had it in a _vice grip_ , actually, without even knowing my name," the boy grumbled. "And it’s Fundy."

Wilbur coughed to hide a small laugh. "Sorry, hold on, your name is Fundy, and you're a fox? Fundy the Fox?"

"Please don’t."

"No, no, the alliteration is brilliant, really," Wilbur chuckled. "I'm sorry about your tail, Fundy the furry fox."

"Oh my god."

"Fundy the fantastic furry fox. Fundy the fine fantastic furry fox. Fundy the—"

"Erm, why exactly _are_ you a fox?" George asked, cutting Wilbur off.

Wilbur gasped, "Gogi! You can't just ask someone why they're a fox! That's very insensitive."

George bit his lip in confusion. "O-oh, are fox people, um, a common...thing? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be racist or anything, I really didn't know—"

"George, being new isn't an excuse for being ignorant," Eret tsked, shaking his head and folding his arms.

Fundy gave Eret a questioning look before twitching his ears and turning back to George. "You’re fine, man. No hard feelings.”

George breathed a sigh of relief at the boy’s reassurances. "Really, though, I _am_ sorry. I've never met an animal person before—"

" _Woah,_ George! _Animal person_?!" Wilbur exclaimed, leaping forward to slap his hands over the place where Fundy _would've_ had human ears. "Don't listen to him! Gosh, I'm so sorry he said that to you."

Fundy grabbed Wilbur’s wrists and pried the hands off of his head, looking somewhat irked by the boys’ odd behavior. “What are you guys—?”

“Shhhh, Fundy, you’re alright. Breathe with me, okay?” Wilbur instructed, demonstrating a few exaggerated deep breaths for Fundy’s benefit.

George was about to ask Eret for advice on how to proceed further without offending the fox boy even more when he saw that said roommate looked like he was barely containing a laugh.

“Eret? Did something—”

Suddenly, Eret and Wilbur both burst into laughter while Fundy and George looked on in confusion.

“You should’ve seen your face, George!” Wilbur finally choked out in between laughs.

"Wil, I can’t believe you forgot where his ears were!" Eret chuckled, pointing to the fox ears on top of Fundy’s head.

"I was operating by reaction only, I had to think fast."

"Wait, wait, what are you two laughing about?" George cut in, growing annoyed.

"I think your friends just pulled a prank on you,” Fundy explained with a swish of his tail.

“Wait, so I _wasn’t_ being insensitive?”

“Nah, man, I wasn’t offended. There’s no such thing as ‘animal people.’”

"Why'd you scare me like that, then?!" George cried, slapping Wilbur on the shoulder.

" _Ow_!” Wilbur said with a wince. “Because it was _funny_! We saw an opportunity, Gogi, and we took it."

"I can’t believe you idiots," George grumbled, turning back to Fundy. “So...if it's not _actually_ rude, then may I ask why you have...erm...such fox-like qualities?"

"Yeah,” Eret added, “I'm actually quite curious, as well.”

Fundy sighed and twitched his little black nose. "Yeah. It’s not all _that_ exciting, though, guys. I’ve had to tell people this story, like, five hundred times."

"Well, _I_ for one didn't ask for any explanation," Wilbur pointed out. "I only have two questions for you.”

“...alright.”

“One: may I pet your tail?”

Fundy gave Wilbur an odd look at the request. “Uh...that’s a bit weird.”

“Two,” Wilbur continued, “I would also like to know: do you condition your tail? It is _incredibly_ soft."

Fundy snorted and stroked his own tail absently. "Well, I actually have to use a different kind of soap on my fur."

"Why's that?" Wilbur asked, intrigued.

"Human soap irritates animal skin," the Hufflepuff explained. "My hands and feet don’t have fur, but the skin has a different texture to human skin, so I still have to use animal soap on them."

"That sounds like expensive showering."

"It _is_ expensive."

"Can't you just lick yourself clean like an actual fox?"

"O _kay_ ,” Eret interrupted, “Can we maybe hear about why he's a fox and _then_ you two can get into his grooming habits?"

"Right, sorry," Fundy huffed. "It's really not anything crazy. My parents were authorized by the Ministry to become registered animagi, but one night when I was a baby they accidentally left their potions out in the open. I drank both vials, fell asleep, and in the morning, well...I looked like this."

"Blimey,” Eret said. “That must've been a shock for your parents."

"And those potions take a bloody long time to brew!" Wilbur exclaimed. "You finished _both_ of them!?"

"Yep. I didn't leave behind a single drop. I was lucky to have survived the whole thing, actually. The potion can kill you if you take it incorrectly, so my parents were just grateful that I lived. They kind of gave up on becoming animagi after that, though."

"Well, I don't blame them!" Wilbur replied. "Can you imagine going through the whole process of brewing the potion, keeping a mandrake leaf in your mouth for a whole month and everything, only to have some little bugger come along and ruin it all?!"

Fundy rolled his eyes at that, sparking a heated discussion involving animagus potions and random fox-related details, before a sudden whistle-blowing called everyone's attention.

"Students of Hogwarts! The Quidditch match between Slytherin and Ravenclaw is about to begin! Please welcome our talented players to the pitch!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Techno knew he’d been brilliant during the game.

The quidditch match had been... _eventful_ , to say the least. Technoblade had pulled off maneuver after maneuver effortlessly, scoring three goals within the three minutes, much to the Ravenclaw crowd’s delight. From his position high above the stands he even saw Professor Flitwick jump for joy after a particularly well-executed barrel roll.

No, there was no denying that Techno had been brilliant.

So _why_ , then, had his team _lost_?

The Slytherin Beaters had been targeting him, but he could handle targeting. He’d dodged every single bludger aimed at his head. The one time that a bludger from GB80 succeeded in hitting him in the side, he’d pulled himself back up onto his Cleansweep with only one arm in a spectacular display of upper body strength.

No, the targeting hadn’t been the problem.

The problem was that Techno had gotten _complacent_.

Ravenclaw had been a hundred and forty points ahead of Slytherin. The lead had made him cocky.

Two hours into the game, Vovchuk caught the snitch in a spectacular dive. Everyone, including Techno, had thought the Seeker had been feinting; Vovchuk was known for pulling brazen stunts to throw off her opponents, and the Ravenclaw Seeker had already fallen for six of the Slytherin’s feints during that game.

But of course the _one time_ Techno hadn’t paid any mind to their opponents’ Seeker’s antics had been the time she’d actually caught the snitch.

The final score was one hundred eighty to one hundred seventy. Ravenclaw lost by only ten points, the equivalent of just one goal.

One goal. If he’d just scored _one_ little goal, their team wouldn’t have lost.

He felt like a failure.

Techno had been completely unapproachable after the game. He’d refused to accept any congratulations and had practically teleported into their shared dorm room the second that the score had been called.

George and Eret, thankfully, left him alone. Wilbur, on the other hand, seemed adamant on being as annoying as humanly possible.

The guy wouldn’t stop knocking on his door no matter how hard Techno ignored him. After he realized that _Alohomora_ wouldn’t work either, the other Ravenclaw simply resorted to body slamming the wooden barrier until Philza came upstairs and demanded he stop. Thank god for Philza.

Techno didn’t open the door until after dinner, which he’d skipped in favor of brooding. Surprisingly, the prefect himself was the first person to pop his head into the room.

“Techno, mate! How are ya?” he asked cheerfully.

Techno gave the prefect a defeated look. “Just peachy,” he replied monotonically.

“There’s that ray of sunshine we all know ‘n love,” Phil chuckled, taking a few steps into their room. “Why don’t you come downstairs? Don’t worry, I had ‘em all clear outta the common room just for you. Your mates brought you dinner.”

“I’m not hungry,” Techno lied.

“Hah!” He scoffed, “Save that load o’ shit for someone who’ll hear it. Now come downstairs before I take House Points.”

“From your _own_ House?”

“I’m pretty sure we’ll lose a lot more if ya die of starvation on my watch. Now come on, your friends wanna be allowed into their room!”

George and Eret shuffled into the bedroom once Techno had vacated the premises, obediently making his way to the common room. It was empty, just like Phil promised. A plate piled high with food awaited him by the fireplace, and Techno wasted no time in scarfing it down.

Once he’d eaten everything, Philza patted him on the shoulder. “Are we feelin all better?”

Techno nodded.

“Mhm. Now, are ya gonna tell me why you’re bein all moody, or do I have to threaten you again?”

The second-year groaned. “Phil, do I _really_ hafta—”

“Techno, mate, you’ve been feelin sorry for yourself all day, and, frankly, it doesn’t suit ya. Tell me what’s botherin you so I can help you get back to your usual arse-kicking self,” Philza commanded gently.

Techno stared down at his empty plate, biting his lip nervously. He knew that there was no point in stalling, Philza would find out eventually so it would be best to just get it over with now. He sighed. “I _know_ I’m the best,” he said finally. “I- _we_ lost today, ‘n I hated it, but I still know I was the best player on the pitch.”

Philza furrowed his eyebrows. “So then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that _I_ know I’m the best, but everyone else doesn’t.”

“Techno,” Philza chided, “I think everyone with _eyes_ can see that you’re talented.”

“That’s not it, though. People equate victory with capability, Phil. They measure excellence in success. No matter how much _I_ know I’m the best, nobody else is gonna see that unless I win. That’s why I can’t afford to lose, or fail, or mess up, or—”

“Deep breaths, mate,” Philza cut him off, noticing the way Techno had begun to ball his fists. “You’ve clearly been puttin a lotta thought into this, eh?”

Techno released a long breath through his nostrils. “Well, I did kinda put myself in solitary confinement for ten hours. I had a bit of free time.”

“Wanna know what I think?” Philza replied. After Techno nodded, he continued. “ _I_ think that this is about more than just quidditch.”

Techno averted his eyes and squirmed uncomfortably. He should’ve known nothing would get past this man. In response, Philza placed an arm around the second-year’s shoulder.

“Ya know,” the older boy said gently, “I understand what you’re saying here. It’s a lotta pressure on ya when you’re always tryina prove that you’re the best.”

Techno relaxed at the prefect’s words of reassurance, only to tense again when Phil said his next sentence.

“I don’t think ya _have_ to prove yourself, though.”

Techno looked up at Phil with a weary expression. “What?”

Phil chuckled. “Well, I’m not you and _I_ know you’re the best, right? If I figured that out without ya winnin today, what’s ta stop others from comin to the same conclusion?”

“Obviously you’re just sayin’ that cuz I spilled my guts to you,” Techno snorted. “Now that I’m bein’ all vulnerable, you can’t exactly tell me I’m garbage.”

Philza smiled and shook his head fondly. “Techno, Techno, must you _always_ ruin our heartfelt moments?”

“It's the best part.”

“Aw, c'mon,” Phil snickered, squeezing his shoulder tighter, “Ya know, I’m not the _only_ one who knows that you’re the best.”

Techno opened his mouth to reply with some witty retort, but was cut off by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps from behind them.

“It is complete!” a voice declared.

He shared a knowing, exasperated look with Phil, because of _course_ Wilbur was here.

They turned around in time to see Wilbur standing at the common room entrance with his hands behind his back and a stupid grin on his face.

“ _What’s_ complete?” Techno asked his giddy roommate.

“You’ll see!” Wilbur sang. “Close your eyes, Techno. I have a gift for you!”

Techno grimaced. “Uh, no thanks, Wilbur. Not really feelin’ like acceptin’ any gifts right about now.”

Wilbur just beamed and ignored his roommate’s words. “The beautiful thing about gifts, Techno, is that it’s not up to _you_ to decide when you get them! Now close your eyes!”

Phil shrugged when Techno looked up at him for guidance, confirming the second-year’s suspicion that the prefect _definitely_ knew what was going on. Too tired to care, Techno sighed deeply and closed his eyes like Wilbur asked. Soon, he felt the other boy place something lightweight on top of his head.

“Ta da! You can open them now!” Wilbur declared.

And so Techno did, reaching up to touch the thing on his head carefully. It was circular in shape and felt like it was made out of thick paper, with several pointy edges sticking up at regular intervals.

“A...a crown?” Techno asked.

“Yes! It’s a crown!” Wilbur whooped, practically vibrating with pride at his own creation. “Isn’t it brilliant?”

“Well, uh, I can’t really see it since it’s on my head…” Techno trailed off, still ghosting his hand over the paper. “W-why'd you make me a crown, Wil?”

Wilbur scoffed at the question and rolled his eyes. “ _Why?_ Because you’re the best, _obviously._ C’mon, Techno, I thought you were smart!”

Techno felt at a loss for words. “How...how did you know?” he asked dumbly.

“How do I know that _Technoblade_ is the best? Blimey, I think you spent a bit too much time in that room on your own. Are you feeling alright?” Wilbur asked, pressing the back of his hand to Techno’s forehead.

“I don’t— I don’t get it,” Techno stammered.

“What’s not to get, Techno? Wilbur knows you’re the best!” Philza said with a knowing smile.

Techno touched the crown on his head again as he tried to process his thoughts.

Wilbur knew he was the best.

His team lost the game, he had failed, and Wilbur still thought he was the best. He’d even made Techno a crown to prove it.

He wasn’t sure when he’d started crying. He’d always been a silent crier, so it came as a bit of a surprise when Philza and Wilbur both enveloped him in a group hug.

Yet, in spite of the tears, Techno had never felt better. Because maybe he didn’t need the whole world to know he was the best.

He was the best in the eyes of those who mattered, and maybe that was enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the first Friday in April and the second-years had just finished another Muggle Studies lesson with Professor Borealis. They had been learning about the various subjects taught at Muggle schools and how they were different to the syllabi of wizarding schools across the world. Professor Borealis had explained how Muggles emphasize knowledge of the three natural sciences: physics, chemistry, and biology.

For the most part, the lesson had been going very well. Most of the students were fascinated by the concept of chemical reactions, which Professor Borealis had demonstrated by mixing some baking soda and vinegar together to create a bubbly volcano.

“Wait, _that’s_ why that fizzing thing happens?” Wilbur had asked with wide eyes.

“Indeed, Mr. Soot. This is what Muggles call a _neutralization reaction_ in chemistry. The bubbles form due to the production of carbon dioxide gas.”

“Wow. Absolutely fascinating,” Wilbur breathed.

A Slytherin girl at the back of the class tentatively raised her hand to ask a question. “What’s a carbon dioxide, Professor? Is it like a spell?”

A few other students began murmuring at this. “Will we be learning more about this chemistry stuff?” another person standing off to the side asked.

“Quiet down, students, quiet down,” Professor Borealis instructed, waiting until there was silence before continuing. “Unfortunately, the Department of Magical Education has not deemed subjects such as the natural sciences to be of importance to wizardkind, which means that we will not be delving into complex scientific topics. Only the basics for you, I’m afraid.”

A few students groaned in disappointment. Dream merely shrugged beside George.

“We’d never need to know any of that stuff in real life, anyway,” the Slytherin boy whispered. Before George could respond, Professor Borealis snapped her head in their direction and narrowed her eyes at Dream.

“What was that, Mr. Selwyn?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Dream said quickly.

Their professor stepped closer to Dream’s desk and placed her hands on her hips. “No, Mr. Selwyn, if you have any thoughts on our subject matter, I encourage you to share them with the class.”

Everyone’s attention was on Dream, then. The other students waited eagerly to see how the boy would respond.

“Well, uh…” he began, glancing at George before clearing his throat to continue. “I just said that we’d never need to know any of this stuff in real life, anyway.”

Someone in the back of the class snorted. Professor Borealis’ face was unreadable as she regarded the student before her.

Finally, she turned back around and walked back to her desk.

“It is a shame you feel that way, Mr. Selwyn. Though I suppose it is understandable. After all,” she said, “you have grown up in a world where people can light up an entire room with a flick of a wand.”

With those words, the professor flicked her wand and cast a silent _Lumos_.

“When your food is cold,” she continued, casting a nonverbal fire spell to light a candle on her desk, “you can say a few magic words and heat it up. You can travel great distances by merely stepping into a fireplace. You can summon lost objects by calling their names. It makes sense that you wouldn’t recognize the necessity of physics or chemistry.”

The class was silent as the students contemplated their professor’s words. Dream sat up a bit straighter in his seat.

“It is a pity that so many wizards fail to see the value of non-magical disciplines,” Professor Borealis said with a sigh. “Knowledge of basic biology, for example, could have prevented so much conflict. If most purebloods could just recognize the foolishness of their own inbreeding, they would realize that all of these squabbles over blood status are utterly stupid.”

George’s eyes widened at their professor’s comment. Beside him, Dream tensed.

“Excuse me?” the Slytherin boy called out, visibly irritated. “Did you just say ‘inbreeding?’”

By now, several other students were beginning to whisper to each other nervously. Professor Borealis blinked several times before clarifying.

“Yes, I did,” she said. “Pureblood families have been inbreeding for centuries in their quest to produce powerful witches and wizards. If they understood simple biology, however, they’d realize that marrying their own cousins accomplishes quite the opposite.”

Suddenly, Minx stood up from her chair and crossed her arms. “Oi! You can’t just call a whole group o’ people _inbred_ like we’re fuckin’ _animals_!”

Minx’s words prompted gasps from everyone in the room apart from Schlatt, who muttered something about Minx and animals under his breath. Professor Borealis looked livid.

“Miss Minx, you may _not_ speak to me in that manner. Ten points from Slytherin,” she snapped angrily.

“Well _you_ can’t go around spouting _rubbish!_ This class is nothing but useless hogwash. The greatest wizards of all time were purebloods, so maybe you should wind yer neck in and ‘ave some _respect_!”

“Minx! _Twenty_ points from Slytherin. Off to McGonagall’s office with you, now!”

The Slytherin girl huffed and stomped out of the classroom, muttering profanities under her breath. George watched her leave with a feeling of dread in his stomach.

An awkward silence ensued. After several moments, the professor took a deep breath and began to speak again.

“Well, that was—”

“She had a _point_ , though, Professor.”

George closed his eyes and suppressed a groan. Of course Dream wasn’t going to drop it.

Professor Borealis pinched the bridge of her nose, looking like the picture of irritation. Dream didn’t wait for permission to continue before he pressed on.

“Look at most of the great witches and wizards in our history books. I wouldn’t call Salazar Slytherin _inbred_. What about Giffard Abbott? The Peverell Brothers? Isolt Sayre?” Dream continued, voice rising with every name. “You’re calling all of these great people inbred, but they were all extremely powerful wizards.”

Their professor waited patiently for Dream to finish speaking. Once the Slytherin boy had said his piece, she cleared her throat.

“Mr. Selwyn. How many generations ago did all of the people you named live?”

Dream paused to think. “Um...I’m not sure. Hundreds of years ago.”

“And what happened to their descendants? Go on; you must know. The Selwyns keep track of pureblood family lines, I’m sure.”

Dream glared at Borealis but nonetheless answered the question.

“Slytherin’s line is...extinct,” he said, furrowing his brows in thought. “The Abbott line is no longer pure...the Peverell line is extinct. So is the Sayre line.”

Professor Borealis raised an eyebrow. “So, three out of four of those pureblood lines are extinct. The other is no longer _pure_. What does that tell you, Selwyn?”

Dream huffed. “That doesn’t mean—”

“ _Quiet_. All of the greatest wizards of the modern era are half-blood or less. Albus Dumbledore. Harry Potter. Hermione Granger. If by ‘great’ you mean _powerful_ , you could even throw in Lord Voldemort, a _half-blood_. The truth is that there are no more ‘great’ pureblood families left. They have all been destroyed by their own foolish customs."

The bell rang, then, signalling the end of class. Borealis dismissed the students with a wave of her hand.

“Class dismissed. Don’t forget to hand in your essays on Monday,” she called out as the students began to exit.

George hurried to catch up with Dream, who was on his feet before their professor had even finished speaking. It didn’t take a Ravenclaw to know that he was furious.

In the hallway, George reached out and put a hand on Dream’s shoulder. The other boy didn’t even turn around.

“Dream, calm down,” George panted. It took Dream a few seconds, but soon the boy whirled around to face his friend. His green eyes were alight with indignation.

“ _Inbred._ Who does she think she is?” he spat, clenching and unclenching his fists.

George gulped nervously and tried to steer them in the direction of the Great Hall. “She didn’t mean it like that, Dream, and you know it.”

“What are we, pet kneazles?” the Slytherin asked sarcastically. “You can’t just call your students inbred!”

“Dream, she was only suggesting that diverse gene pools may lead to greater magical ability. She wasn’t—”

“She called my family _foolish_. She doesn’t know _shit_ about me or my family!”

“Dream, I _really_ think you’re overthinking all of this. She was just making a point about biology, it wasn’t like she was _trying_ to offend—”

Dream rolled his eyes and abruptly turned in the opposite direction, heading for the staircase to the Slytherin dungeons.

“I’ll see you later, George,” he threw over his shoulder. “I need to cool off.”

George watched his best friend walk away, his own feelings a jumbled mess. When he finally arrived at the Great Hall, he saw no tell-tale green robes at the Ravenclaw table. None of their Slytherin friends had come to lunch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream didn’t raise his hand in Muggle Studies for the rest of the academic year.

Despite George’s best efforts, the Slytherin boy refused to spend any time studying for Professor Borealis’ class. By the time June rolled around and the end-of-year examinations were a mere week away, George had given up on trying to help Dream pass the class.

One failing grade wouldn’t hurt his friend’s prospects _too_ much, he supposed.

George didn’t have time to worry about Dream, anyway. He had his own assessments to complete. When he wasn’t in the library, George could be found studying a textbook by the light of the fire in the Ravenclaw common room along with several of his nervous Housemates.

Even Techno, who usually only showed up to their study sessions as a formality, started waking up from his naps to skim through his textbooks for twenty minutes or so before falling back asleep. It was the most George had ever seen him study apart from the days leading up to his disastrous surprise party.

Three days before his first exam, George decided to get some studying done in the library after dinner. Once he’d informed Dream of his plans, he excused himself from the table and made his way down the corridor. Unfortunately, his favorite table was occupied by a group of older students, so he had to settle for a smaller one along the back wall.

Three minutes into his History of Magic revision, he heard footsteps approaching.

“Sorry, this seat’s taken. I’m waiting for a friend,” he mumbled without looking up from his book.

Instead of leaving, the stranger sat right down at his table.

Irritated, George looked up and saw none other than Minx sitting directly across from him in the seat he’d reserved for Dream.

“Oh. Minx?” he said, surprised. “I didn’t realize you liked to study here.”

Minx scoffed. "That's because I _don't_ , you—" she cut herself off, taking a deep breath before shooting him a wide smile. On anyone else, the expression might have looked warm and welcoming.

On Minx it looked downright terrifying.

George glanced around, assessing the area and mentally mapping his escape routes in case the conversation went sour.

"So then, uh…why _are_ you here?" he asked. When Minx’s eyes widened, he immediately winced and backtracked."I-I mean, you can be wherever you want! Obviously. B-but I was just wondering—"

"Listen here, you—!" her retort abruptly cut off again as she clenched her fists. "Listen, _George_ , I just saw you sitting over here all alone and I wanted to be nice. Since, you know, you looked all sad and lonely. It's embarrassing, studying all by yourself. People'll think you have no friends."

George looked around at the other occupants of the library and noted that everyone seemed much too engrossed in their studying to pay any attention to his social life. He decided not to point this out to Minx, however.

"Well, uh, thanks," he said instead, turning back to his textbook. He supposed there were worse reasons for Minx to be approaching him, and worse people to be sitting next to him as he studied.

After a long minute passed in which George continued to read silently, Minx huffed and leaned over to see the contents of George's textbook.

"What the hell are you even studying for? Doesn't your big blue brain already know everything?" she demanded.

"Big blue brain?" George echoed, leaning back a little in his seat.

"Yeah. What's the point of bein a Ravenclaw if you're just going to study like everyone else?"

George furrowed his eyebrows at the question. "Well, being a Ravenclaw doesn't mean you suddenly know everything."

Minx rolled her eyes. "Are ye sure you're not just embarrassed to tell me you're the dumb one of your group?" she snickered.

"Wh— _no_."

"Well, I don't see any of your _other_ bird boys around studyin like you," she tsked. "I can tell yer embarrassed. Ye don’t have to be."

"That's not… I don't _have_ to study right now," George defended himself. "I just feel better when I do. It's like...extra protection. Just in case the exam is even harder than I expect. It’s better to be safe than sorry."

"Well I feel _really_ sorry for people who waste their time in the library when they don't need to," Minx replied, holding her hand up when George opened his mouth to protest. "But it's _cute_ , relax."

George’s eyes went comically wide. "Cute?!" he spluttered. Had Minx really just _complimented_ him? Did Minx even _do_ compliments?

Apparently, she did, because she’d called him _cute_.

"In, like, a weird _nerd_ way," she snickered, a grin spreading across her face as she noticed George's cheeks reddening. "'N so's your face when you go all red like that. It just makes me wanna punch you!"

George scooted his chair back even further from the girl before him, suddenly a bit frightened. "Oh, um, thanks?"

"Out of affection," she clarified. "Just—" she paused to punch the air a few times for emphasis. "Knock ye out."

George slowly nodded. He certainly didn't want any punches from Minx, affectionate or otherwise. If Minx really _had_ sat down across from him to save him from looking like a friendless loner, the girl had a weird way of showing she cared.

Come to think of it, why _did_ she care?

They weren’t particularly close. But, well...maybe it was best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He snickered at the animal metaphor, knowing it was something Schlatt would say.

“What’re ye laughin about? You think I’m kidding?!” she spat, her chair flying back as she stood up abruptly. “I’ll do it! I’ll punch ya right now!”

“N-no! I believe you!” George cried, holding his arms up defensively. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be all...nice to me.” There was no way George was going to explain the animal metaphor. Comparing Minx to a barn animal again would be the equivalent of digging his own grave.

Minx’s posture relaxed at that. “W-well, if you’re gonna laugh at me every time I am, then don’t get used to it,” she stammered, moving to sit back down. Unfortunately, she forgot that she’d knocked the chair over in her previous physical display, which meant that she landed on the library floor.

George gasped when he saw Minx fall down. “Oh— I’m sorry, a-are you okay?” he stuttered out.

“OW! What’re you apologizing for you _moron_ , ye didn’t do anything!” She yelled, rubbing her back. “ _Ah_ , fuckin piece of shit wooden arsehole of a chair! I hope your bitch of a mother was used for fuckin toilet paper, ye cunt! I’d throw you in a fuckin firepit for fuel if I didn’t think you’d be so fuckin useless at the job!”

“Uh, wow, okay. I just got here, but _clearly_ I’m not invited.” Dream snickered, appearing behind George and taking in the sight of Minx cursing furiously on the floor.

“If you’re jus’ gonna stand there ‘n watch me suffer, then maybe ye _should_ leave!” she cried angrily as Dream chuckled and offered her a hand.

Minx eyed the proffered hand wearily before taking it. “What a fuckin _gentleman_ you are,” she groaned, still massaging her back.

“Only the best for a lady like you,” he bowed.

Minx rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m _leavin_. Enjoy your fuckin studying or whatever.”

When George could no longer hear the sounds of muttered profanities over the din of the library, he huffed and rearranged their table. Dream picked up the offensive chair and took a seat.

“So, do you wanna tell me why Minx was here?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.

“Well, apparently I looked ‘embarrassingly lonely’ studying by myself. Minx wanted to keep me company, I guess,” he shrugged.

Dream snorted. “Right, and I came here to hunt down a dragon.”

“That’s what she _told_ me!” George insisted. “Then she made fun of me for studying, and then…” he trailed off, turning red.

“And then…?” Dream echoed, leaning forward expectantly.

“And then...she said I was cute.”

Dream stared at him blankly. “You can’t be serious.”

“I _am_! She said she wanted to punch me ‘out of affection.’ What does that even mean?!”

“George,” Dream said, snickering and leaning back in his chair. “I-I think she likes you.”

“ _What_?!”

“Affection punches are reserved for _special_ people, George. This is _Minx_ we’re talking about.”

George’s cheeks burned impossibly hotter. “Well— w-why would she do _that_?” he stammered.

Dream rolled his eyes and slapped George on the back.

“Why would she like you? Beats me, Gogi. You’re such a _nerd_ ,” he teased.

“Hey! Don’t call me that!” George snapped, crossing his arms.

Dream smiled at him, then, and George found himself averting his eyes.

“Relax, George,” the Slytherin said. “I’m kidding. You’re a catch.”

In lieu of a response, George crumpled up a piece of parchment and flung it at Dream’s head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

George had never been happier to board the Hogwarts Express.

It was a relief to be on his way home again after the hell that was exam week. Though Hogwarts was his favorite place in the world, he missed his parents terribly. He was looking forward to spending his summer holiday with his family, surrounded by familiar scents, home cooked meals, and the internet.

Dream, on the other hand, would not stop complaining about having to return home.

“I just think it’s stupid,” he said to George for the fiftieth time on the train. “Why do we need _two whole months_ of summer holiday? We already get time off for Christmas _and_ Easter. Really, this long of a break is unnecessary.”

“Oh god, Dream, please just shut up,” Sapnap groaned. “We get it, your dad sucks, bla bla bla. If you don’t be quiet I’ll move to Bad’s compartment.”

Dream snorted at the halfhearted threat. “Oh, so you’ll _leave_ if I don’t shut up? How is that an incentive for me to be quiet?”

“Whatever! Just. Please. Please stop whining.”

Dream huffed and leaned back in his seat. After a few minutes of silence, George felt something nudge his leg.

“Dream?” he said to the blond, moving his leg away.

“What?”

Figuring the nudge had been an accident, George dropped it. “Never mind,” he replied.

A few seconds later, however, he felt the nudge again.

“ _Dream_.”

“Yes, George?”

“Why are you kicking me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

George rolled his eyes and pointedly scooted as close as he could to the compartment window, angling his body away from his friend’s. Dream stayed put for almost an entire minute before nudging George yet again.

“Stop it!” George huffed exasperatedly, crossing his legs and shooting Dream a look.

“Stop _what_?”

“Stop...putting your thing on mine!”

Dream’s expression morphed into a smirk. “But...I like it.”

Across from the two friends, Eret groaned.

“Honestly, Dream, what are you, twelve?” the Ravenclaw asked sarcastically, to which Dream nodded.

“Actually, yes. I am.”

It was another few hours before the Hogwarts Express finally rolled to a stop at King’s Cross. Everyone immediately emptied out of their compartments and hurried to meet their parents. George stood next to Dream on the platform while he waited for his own parents to arrive, occasionally waving goodbye to his friends as they left the station one by one.

It was entertaining to watch the reunions between the students and their families. George saw Techno’s mother immediately wrap her son in a warm hug and wave at Wilbur, who was fervently tugging his parents in her direction. Sapnap, meanwhile, was handed an entire gift basket by _his_ parents. George even caught sight of Fundy and chuckled when he saw the fox boy’s mother fussing over her son’s tail.

Eventually, a weird gangly looking house-elf appeared a few meters away from George and began to wave its spindly arms at their group. Dream and Schlatt both bid him goodbye before turning to walk in the elf’s direction. Before George could even ask why on earth the two Slytherins would be walking towards a house-elf, however, he heard a voice call out his name.

“George! Are you ready to head home yet?” his father asked, placing a hand on his shoulder and making George jump.

“Dad!” George cried as he whirled around. “I couldn’t see you!”

His dad merely chuckled and picked up George’s luggage. “Come on, now, let’s head to the car. Your mum’s waiting for us.”

Once he’d hugged both his parents and stowed his trunk away, the three family members settled into their familiar post-Hogwarts discussions in which George told his parents about what he’d done that semester. Apparently, his parents had subscribed to the _Daily Prophet_ in order to stay updated on current events in the wizarding world.

“Ruby’s been bringing us the paper every day,” his mother informed him excitedly, unfolding a copy of that morning’s issue. “She’s such a smart girl, our Ruby. Speaking of, Georgie, I do hope you feed her after she delivers our letters to you.”

“What d’you want me to feed her? Doesn’t she eat _live_ _mice_?” George asked, scrunching up his nose in disgust.

His mum waved her hand dismissively. “Mice, insects, voles, rabbits...surely you wizards can conjure her something.”

“I can’t _conjure her a rabbit_ , Mum.”

“Can’t you just pull one out of a hat?”

“ _No!_ ”

“ _Anyway_ ,” his father said, interrupting their little squabble, “I was meaning to ask you about some of these fancy magic terms we keep reading about. God, it would be so much simpler if we could Google these things. When are you lot going to start using the internet?”

“Dad. Statute of Secrecy, remember? Plus, magic—”

“—interferes with electricity, right, right. Anyway, we saw an advert for something called a _Remembrall_. Do you need one of those?”

“No. It’s just a ball that fills up with red smoke if you’ve forgotten something.”

“Does it tell you what you’ve forgotten?”

“No.”

“Sounds rather idiotic, doesn’t it, Olivia?”

George’s mum hummed in agreement, flipping over the newspaper page. “Yes, that does sound rather pointless. Oh, Georgie, I underlined this word right here. What’s a _squib_?”

George blinked. _Squib?_

“Uh, why do you ask, Mum?”

“Well,” his mother explained, squinting at the tiny print, “this headline here says ‘Squib Rates in Britain on the Rise.’ Is that something we should be worried about? Like a disease or something?”

“Oh, yes,” his father added, “is it like that frightening disease you told us about? The werewolf one? What was it, _licky-trophy_?”

George furrowed his brows and shook his head. “No, Dad, it’s not anything like lycanthropy. A squib is just someone who was born to magical parents, but who can’t do magic.”

“Oh, alright,” his mother said, sounding relieved. “Nothing terrible, then. Now, did you eat on the train? How hungry will you be when we arrive home?”

The conversation reverted back to boring small talk after that. As George watched the colorful London streets pass by outside his window, his thoughts inevitably returned to Dream. The Slytherin was probably already waiting for him at his house.

George smiled at the realization that he was _finally_ free from all the stresses of school for two months. No matter how much Dream groaned about having to return home for the summer, George was excited for the break. He would have two whole months of relaxation, lovely weather, and Dream.

What could be better?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AcCoRdiNg to AO3 stATiStiCs...you should leave kudos and a comment. We're addicted to them. We literally get high off your comments. In all seriousness, though, this story would be nothing without your support, so it really means a lot when y'all leave those comments! Even if they're just one word. We love 'em all.
> 
> Gra55 has Tumblr now! They got mad at me for deleting a bunch of their lengthy dialogue so they made a blog to post outtakes. If that interests you at all, check it out: extragrassydetails.tumblr.com
> 
> My (ken's) Tumblr: kangarooken.tumblr.com
> 
> See you next update!


	15. Chapter Fifteen || Year Two and a Half (Summer)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream's dad has something to share with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and we're back!
> 
> Hey, guys. Sorry for the longer wait. It's been a pretty stressful time for both grass and I. I (ken) quit my job! Woohoo! I figured out that full time job + full time college = too much stress. 
> 
> Went on a writing spree again! Took grass a bit longer to edit, so we hope you enjoy :D

Dream's break was off to a terrible start.

Schlatt went back to giving him the silent treatment as soon as Bippy apparated them to their room. It wasn’t a surprise or anything; ever since that fateful winter day, the two Slytherins didn’t speak a word to each other when they were alone together.

Dream couldn’t blame Schlatt. He had a right to be angry, after all.

Dream didn't even know where to _begin_ when it came to repairing their friendship. The first step, he supposed, would be to give the other boy a heartfelt apology. The only problem was that Dream didn’t even fully regret betraying Schlatt in the first place. Logically, he knew he was in the wrong and that there was no way to justify his actions, and, yet, he didn’t regret what he did.

The obvious relief that George had expressed the second Dream had assured him their other friends were in the clear made it all worth it. Sure, being ignored by his roommate was terrible, but having to watch his best friend live in fear every single day was worse.

Even though Schlatt hated him for it, Dream knew that he would betray his roommate’s trust again if he had to. George was his best friend in the whole world, which meant that George had to come first.

That being said, Dream _did_ feel guilty. Sometimes he wondered if helping one friend at the expense of another made him a bad person. He wasn't sure.

Perhaps he didn’t want to know the answer.

A tense silence settled in the room as the two Slytherins packed their stuff away. Just as Dream finally emptied his trunk, there was a sudden loud crashing noise and Drista came bursting through the door.

“Schlatt!” she exclaimed, oblivious to the tension in the room. The five-year-old tackled the boy in a big bear hug and buried her face in his robes. “I missed you!”

Schlatt smiled and ruffled the girl’s hair affectionately. “Oof! Geez, kid, are ya tryna take me down here?” he asked.

Drista giggled, shaking her head in response.

“Ah, all jokes,” Schlatt said, prying Drista’s hands from around his waist. “How’re you doin’?! Been takin care of the house while we were gone?”

“Yes!” she replied, nodding. “Mom’s always doing ‘paperwork’ all day and Dad’s always out doing grown-up stuff, so _I’m_ the one who has to protect our house!”

“Ew,” Schlatt said, making an exaggerated disgusted expression. “Grown-up stuff? Doesn’t that sound awful?”

“Well, Dad said it’s important. But I don’t really care about grown-up stuff,” Drista said with a shrug. “ _I_ care about chasing out the evil gnomes! They keep trying to steal my toys, Schlatt! They want to eat them!”

Dream snorted and rolled his eyes. “Gnomes don’t care about toys, Drista.”

“How do you know? Are _you_ a gnome?” the little girl retorted, sticking her tongue out at her brother.

“Yeah, you tell ‘im, Dris!” Schlatt cheered.

“ _No_. I just know that gnomes like to eat worms, so unless you play with _worms_ , you don’t have to worry about your stupid toys.”

“Nuh-uh!” Drista protested. “If all they want is worms, why do they always stay near our house?! They could eat worms in the park! They stay in the gardens because they want our things!”

“Ah, don’t waste your time on him, Drista,” Schlatt cut in before Dream could say anything else. “Lemme finish puttin away my things and then we can go gnome hunting, alright?”

The girl glared at her brother for another second before sighing and making her way out of their room. “Okay! I’ll go get our gnome hunting tools!” she called over her shoulder.

It was only after Schlatt had finally finished unpacking his stuff and went to go follow her that Dream realized his own sister hadn’t even said hello to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey Miz Selwyn! The owl brought the mail while Drista ‘n I were hangin outside, so we’re bringin it in!” Schlatt called, strolling into the dining room with Drista at his heels and handing Dream’s mother a stack of letters.

“Oh, they never end, do they?” she sighed, beckoning Bippy over and commanding the elf to put the letters in her study. “Thank you, Jebediah. It was very thoughtful of you to bring them inside.”

“Ah, s’no biggie,” Schlatt shrugged. “Drista got to watch the owl eat a mouse, I got to help ya out. It was a win-win situation!”

“Well, aren’t you the sweetest?” Mrs. Selwyn cooed. “You two should go on and wash your hands. Breakfast is ready, and we don’t want it to get cold, now, do we?”

“Yes ma’am,” Schlatt nodded. “C’mon Drista, to the kitchen!”

Dream stabbed his eggs in irritation as he watched his roommate and sister skip past him. Since when had Schlatt become such a good samaritan? If anyone else from school were to see him like this, they’d think the guy had been poisoned or kidnapped and replaced with some clone. The Schlatt everyone knew from school was like the evil twin of the one who was currently serving himself breakfast in Dream’s home.

Not for the first time, Dream wished Minx were around just so he could hear the guy swear again. It’d only been a few days since Schlatt had started acting all angelic and Dream already couldn’t stand it. To make matters worse, Dream couldn’t even confide in George about the whole situation because doing so would expose Schlatt’s secret.

 _You’ve already pushed his boundaries once,_ Dream’s traitorous mind supplied. _What’s stopping you from doing it again?_

No. Dream wouldn’t tell George about the true nature of Schlatt’s predicament unless he absolutely _had_ to.

He would at least _try_ to be a decent enough friend to his roommate.

“D’ya need anything from the kitchen, Miz Selwyn?” Schlatt called out.

“No, dear, it’s alright. Leave the errands to the house-elf!” she called back to him before turning to her own son. “What a considerate boy your friend is, Clay. You could learn a thing or two from him.”

Dream narrowed his eyes, “Yeah, sure.”

"Oh don't give me that look," his mother snapped. "You haven't given your sister _nearly_ as much attention as he has. That boy is always trying to help out around the house. I thought Bippy would have twice as much work with a guest living here, but instead the elf’s work has been cut in half!"

"Doesn't dad _pay_ him to do all of this, though?" Dream asked, earning himself a whack on the head. "Ow!"

" _Clay_! Think before you speak! That boy refuses to take anything more from us than the food on his plate and the roof over his head. Whatever allowance your father manages to shove into his selfless hands is all spent on personal necessities. We had to guilt-trip him into accepting new clothing and school supplies, for Merlin's sake!"

Dream rolled his eyes and stood up from the table with a huff. “I’m gonna go,” he said before taking several steps towards the front door.

His mother raised an eyebrow. “And _where_ are you going, might I ask?”

Dream crossed his arms defensively. “Out.”

“Why must you teenagers be so cryptic?” Mrs. Selwyn huffed. “I’m only curious, Clay. Are you off to visit that No-Maj friend who lives next door?

Dream bristled. “No-Maj- _born_ , Mom. And his name’s George.”

“Yes, yes, sorry. Don’t stay out too long. I want you home by lunch,” his mother said, waving him off with her hand.

Dream wasted no time in putting on his shoes and throwing open his front door. As he made his way to George’s house, he felt extra grateful for his Ravenclaw friend’s existence. He didn’t know how he’d stand Schlatt’s presence without George next door to distract him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Slytherin boys were just waking up one July morning when Bippy apparated into their room with a _pop_ that had them both nearly jumping out of their beds.

“Master Selwyn requests Mister Schlatt’s presence in the dining room!” the house-elf squeaked, peering at Schlatt with its big bulging eyes.

Schlatt yawned and stretched. When he spoke, his voice was gravelly with sleep. “Did he say why, Bippy?” the Slytherin asked.

Bippy shuffled its feet as it answered. “Master Selwyn said it’s important business, Sir!”

“Alright. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Bippy disapparated with another _pop_ , leaving Dream and Schlatt alone in their bedroom once more. Dream rolled over and buried his head in his pillow as Schlatt clambered out of bed, rustling sheets and clothing before he finally padded over to the door and slammed it shut.

Dream sighed and flipped over in his bed again, fully intent on falling back asleep, but Bippy’s words kept bouncing around in his head.

 _Important business._ What important business could his dad have with a thirteen-year-old kid?

Before he could give the idea much more thought, however, Bippy once again appeared in his bedroom.

“Go away, Bippy. You can make the beds later,” Dream groaned, rolling away from the house-elf and pulling his blanket up over his ears.

“Bippy will make the beds soon, Master Selwyn. But first, Bippy must tell Master Selwyn that Master Selwyn requests Master Selwyn’s presence downstairs as well!”

“Could you cut it out with the ‘Master Selwyn’ crap? I told you not to call me that,” Dream snapped, sitting up against his headboard and shooting the elf before him a glare.

“Bippy is sorry for making Master Selwyn angry! Bippy will throw itself out of Master Selwyn’s window!” the creature squeaked in reply, flattening its ears and staring at the floor.

Dream rolled his eyes at the submissive display. “Ugh, don’t bother. Just tell Dad I’ll be down in a minute.”

Bippy obediently disappeared moments later, leaving Dream alone to fish a clean set of robes out of his closet. Still somewhat bleary-eyed from sleep, it took him a bit longer than it should have to make himself look presentable. By the time he came downstairs, his father and Schlatt were already sipping mugs of coffee at the dining room table.

“Clay. So kind of you to join us,” his father remarked, gesturing for him to take a seat. Dream did so warily, still unsure why his dad had called both boys downstairs at such an early hour.

“Bippy!” Mr. Selwyn said, summoning the elf to his side instantly. “Fetch my son a cup of black tea. He has yet to appreciate the taste of coffee.”

Bippy did so immediately, and Dream bit back a retort as he accepted the steaming mug from the house-elf’s hands. Somehow, his dad even managed to make his beverage preference sound inferior.

Once all three wizards were settled at the table, Mr. Selwyn cleared his throat.

“Good morning, Gentlemen.”

“Good morning,” the two Slytherins mumbled back.

Pleased with their responses, Mr. Selwyn sat back in his seat and set his empty coffee cup on the table.

“You’re probably wondering why I summoned you downstairs this morning,” he began. “The truth is, I wanted to give you boys an opportunity.”

Dream’s brow furrowed as he puzzled over his dad’s words. “An opportunity? What kind of opportunity?” he blurted out, wincing once he realized he’d spoken out of turn and would likely be scolded in front of Schlatt.

To his surprise, however, his dad didn’t reprimand him for his impatient questions. Instead, Mr. Selwyn _smiled_.

“Ah yes,” he said, regarding his son with something akin to mirth in his gaze. “You’re always so _curious_ , Clay. To answer your question, my son, I am going to give you boys an opportunity to accompany me to my place of work today.”

Dream sucked in a quick breath, looking at his father with wide eyes as he processed the words. Out of all the things his father could have dragged him into the kitchen for at eight in the morning, he would never have guessed that _this_ would be it. The pondering silence stretched on, broken only by Schlatt releasing a shaky cough.

“Uh, wow, Mister Selwyn, that’s… that's amazing,” he stammered, kicking Dream's leg under the table to snap him out of his stupor. “I’ve never been to a…” he trailed off, narrowing his eyes as his sentence lost its direction. He glanced back up at Mr. Selwyn, “Uh, I for— where exactly do you work again, Sir?”

Mr. Selwyn gave the boy an amused look and twirled his wand around in his hand. “My work takes me everywhere, Jebediah." He mused, "Although, recently, my colleagues and I have been operating out of Caerphilly.”

Dream bit his lip, thinking. _Caerphilly_...where had he heard that name before?

Schlatt looked at him expectantly, humming thoughtfully as he waited for Dream's response.

“Oh!" He exclaimed, finally remembering, "That's where the Caerphilly Catapults are from! We saw them in a game when we first came here! Isn’t that all the way in Wales, though?”

Dream’s dad nodded, pleased. “Indeed it is.”

"So...why do you work all the way there?” he asked curiously.

Mr. Selwyn paused and tapped his fingers on the table before answering.

“Clay,” he said, “do you remember what my occupation is?”

“Uh...you’re a potioneer?”

Dream watched his dad’s lips twitch at his response.

“Ah, yes. That is the simple answer I gave you when you were a child,” he explained casually. “Now, however, you are old enough to understand the complex nature of my work. You see, I am a spagyrist.”

Again, his father’s words were met with puzzled silence.

“Uh...could you remind us what that is, Sir?” Schlatt asked nervously.

“Of course,” Mr. Selwyn sighed, “I remember, now, that they don’t introduce alchemy at Hogwarts until sixth year. What a pity.”

Dream put down his mug and blinked up at his dad. “Wait, you’re an alchemist?”

“In short, yes. Spagyric is a branch of alchemy. It is very complex work involving the research and extraction of herbal substances using alchemical procedures,” Mr. Selwyn explained.

“Kind of like an herbologist,” Schlatt concluded thoughtfully.

Mr. Selwyn stood from his chair, then, and gestured towards the fireplace. “Yes and no. Perhaps it would be easier if I explained things at the facility.”

Dream and Schlatt quickly chugged the remnants of their drinks before standing up and following suit, soon forming a little huddle around the hearth.

“Follow my lead,” Mr. Selwyn said to the two boys as he turned around and grasped a handful of Floo Powder from the bag on the mantel. He gracefully tossed the glittery powder into the flames, turning the orange fire a pretty emerald green color.

Dream’s father stepped fearlessly into the fireplace. “W.A.P. Headquarters,” he announced in a clear voice. Immediately, his figure disappeared as the flames swallowed him whole.

Schlatt shrugged and glanced at his roommate. “Mind if I go first?”

Dream shook his head, "Have fun."

Schlatt mimicked Mr. Selwyn’s actions, tossing a handful of powder into the fire before taking a step forward and calling out his destination. Soon enough, Dream was alone in the dining room.

“Here goes nothing,” he mumbled, reaching for some Floo powder with a shaky hand. Dream had never liked traveling via the Floo Network; despite knowing that the emerald flames wouldn’t actually hurt him, it was hard not to feel panicked when stepping into literal fire.

Eventually, though, he took a deep breath and stepped forward. “W.A.P Headquarters,” he declared. The fire roared as the flames consumed him and Dream felt a magical force begin to tug him into the unknown.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Dream stepped out of the fireplace, all he saw was white.

White walls. White floors. White lights. He found himself standing in a narrow white hallway with white doors on either side. The setting reminded him of the Florida hospital he’d been rushed to when he’d come down with spattergroit several years prior.

Wait... _was_ he in a hospital?

Dream was pulled out of his thoughts when one of the doors up ahead opened with a loud creak, revealing Schlatt’s figure standing in the doorway.

“In here, Dream-boat,” he called out, beckoning Dream to come closer.

Dream lips quirked up slightly at the old nickname. He ducked his head and followed, noting the clicking sounds his shoes made on the white tile as he walked.

 _Kind of a creepy workplace_ , _Dad,_ his brain supplied.

Thankfully, the room in which his father and Schlatt were waiting was a lot less white.

Dream’s eyes widened as he took in the sights around him. In contrast to the intimidating colorless surroundings of the first hallway, the interior of _this_ room was a hectic mishmash of color.

The first thing he noticed was that there were potions everywhere. Potions on desks, potions on shelves — heck, some potions were even brewing on the _floor_. The sheer number of potion bottles in the room made the dungeon Potions classrooms at Hogwarts look like a pathetic joke.

The only parts of the room that _weren't_ covered in potions were inhabited by the most bizzare array of magical creatures Dream had ever seen.

They were lined up in glass cages along the back wall. Some were familiar — like the Jarvey sleeping in one of the cages, facing another which contained what looked like an Erkling. Other creatures, however, gave Dream pause.

Caged in one corner was something resembling an animate red cube with glowing yellow eyes, its body opening up like an accordion as it jumped in place. Beside it was what looked to be a purple box, but as soon as Dream slammed the door shut behind him, it's top opened up. A small, pale yellow face peered out, like an irritated, colorless turtle. Its purple shell swiveled closed again as soon as Dream met its gaze.

It took everything in him to resist the childish impulse to run up and press his nose up against the glass.

His father sat down at one of the desks, wordlessly summoning two more chairs with his wand and gesturing for the two boys to sit.

“This,” the wizard said, eyes alight with something Dream couldn’t quite place, “is the extraction room.”

 _Extraction room._ The words sent a shiver up Dream’s spine, though he had no idea why.

“What’s with all the…” Dream trailed off, gesturing around the space as he tried to think of the right words, “...stuff?”

His dad smiled at him and picked up the closest potion bottle. The liquid inside was a bright fuschia color.

“The contents of this bottle, when consumed, give the drinker superhuman strength,” he remarked idly, ignoring the posed question, “If you had to guess, Clay, what would you say were this potion’s ingredients?”

Dream bit his lip as he thought about the question. Strength potions were covered in his second-year Potions class, so he knew the ingredients that the potion _should_ have contained. Something was amiss, though; the strength potions that Slughorn showed them in class had all been orange in color, not fuschia.

“Uh...fanged geranium and crushed arm bone?” he replied anyway.

His dad smirked and shook his head.

“That’s what the _old_ strength potions contained, Clay. For centuries, spagyrists have been searching for a more efficient, stronger, more _powerful_ potion base. And just last month, my son,” his dad broke off to pin him with an unnerving gaze. “I found it.”

Dream gulped and glanced down at the bottle once more, regarding its swirling contents warily.

“...what’s the new base, Dad?” he asked. Schlatt nodded along beside him, seemingly also curious.

Mr. Selwyn smiled. “Wart of Nether.”

Schlatt tensed in his seat, but Dream just stared back at his father blankly. He had no clue what Wart of Nether was, but judging by the way his father said its name it must have been important.

“Jebediah,” his dad said, turning to Schlatt. “If a Muggle were to consume an ordinary strength potion, what would happen?”

Schlatt thought for a few moments before replying.

“Well, uh...they’d just get stronger. The potion would have it’s intended effect, Sir.”

Selwyn nodded, clearly pleased by the response. “Right you are. However, if a Muggle or Squib were to take _this_ potion,” Selwyn paused to swirl the contents of the potion bottle for emphasis, “it would kill them instantly.”

 _Instant death?_ Dream gulped and regarded the bottled liquid with a newfound curiosity. _That_ wasn’t something Professor Slughorn had covered in class.

“You look surprised, Clay,” Dream’s father remarked. “I do not blame you; the properties of Wart of Nether are something alchemists are only beginning to understand. Through my experimentation, I have deduced that its essence acts as an amplifier; it travels through a being’s bloodstream and temporarily enhances magical abilities. Observe.”

Selwyn briskly walked up to one of the cages at the bag of the room and unlocked it with a whispered spell. Once the cage was open, he reached in and pulled out a plump, fluffy-feathered bird with pink and blue feathers.

“Is that a Diricawl, Sir?” Schlatt asked, regarding the bird curiously.

Mr. Selwyn nodded and waved his wand, quickly clearing the rest of the potions off the desk before haphazardly dropping the bird onto it. It squawked indignantly and attempted to peck the wizard with its beak.

“The Diricawl is a magical bird, as I’m sure you are aware. It possesses unique apparation abilities that allow it to escape danger when its life is threatened,” Dream’s dad explained. “Now, observe what occurs when this magical creature is given a few drops of this Netherwart-based potion.”

The boys watched as Mr. Selwyn uncorked the potion bottle and grasped the bird’s neck with one hand. Without hesitation, the wizard pried open its beak and forced several drops of the fuschia liquid down its throat.

Immediately, the bird began to tremble. When it opened its beak to squawk again, the sound it emitted was deafeningly loud to Dream’s ears. Purply-pink particles started appearing around the creature as the potion took effect.

Dream slammed his hands over his ears and swallowed nervously. “Is it—?”

He was cut off abruptly when the Diricawl suddenly locked its eyes on him. In a split second, it propelled itself forward and pecked at his face with enough force to knock him flat on the floor.

He screamed as a potion bottle shattered underneath him, the liquid staining his back as the bird reared its neck and prepared for another attack.

"What the hell's it doing?!" Schlatt yelled, leaping up from his seat and lunging at the creature.

It apparated away in an instant and Schlatt fell to the floor, having missed the creature entirely. Dream scrambled back in a panic, glass crunching underneath him as he looked around frantically for the missing beast.

A screech sounded from behind him and Dream swiveled around just in time to see the bird's beak mere inches away from his face. He rolled to the side at the last second and the attack hit the floor instead, shaking the entire room with soft tremors.

The sudden influx of unnatural strength turned the feathered beast into a terror.

Within seconds, its head was raised again and Dream instinctively reached for his wand, cursing when he realized he didn't have it on him. The stupid magic restrictions for underage wizards were going to get him killed.

_“Stupefy!”_

A flash of red light hit the Diricawl from the direction of the desk. The bird immediately fell unconscious mere inches away from Dream’s feet.

Dream panted heavily, clambering to his feet and nearly stumbling over Schlatt, who was still on the floor.

His father sighed, waving his wand around to repair the damage the scuffle had caused to his potion bottles. Shards of glass lifted off the floor and Dreams robes, liquid seeping out of the cloth and back into newly reformed bottles. “Remarkable, isn’t it?” Selwyn asked, paying no mind to the shaken state of the two boys as he nodded at the bird’s limp body.

Schlatt groaned, slowly lifting himself up off the floor. "It's definitely _something,_ " he grumbled, rubbing his aching chin.

"Indeed, that is the effect of Wart of Nether. Now, Clay, there is a cage of mice in the other corner. Fetch me one, if you will.”

The rush of adrenaline from the excitement was beginning to die down, and Dream's back was noticeably throbbing, but he ignored it. Instead, he obediently made his way to the cage in the corner. Several little white mice squeaked around inside. He gently picked up one of the smaller ones and cradled it in his hands while it looked up at him with beady pink eyes.

“Okay…” Dream muttered, petting the mouse’s back softly as he carried it towards his father. “I got one. Now what?”

Selwyn hummed and gestured towards the uncorked potion bottle, somehow still on the table even after all the racket.

“Give it a drop,” he commanded.

Dream stiffened and looked up at his dad in disbelief. “You want me to feed it some of _that_? Won’t it go all crazy and bite my finger off or something?”

Schlatt coughed and ran a hand through his hair nervously. "The uh… the strength potion's not gonna work on it, man.”

“But Schlatt, you saw the Diricawl. It became, like, possessed. I don’t want to—”

“ _Clay_ ,” Mr. Selwyn said, a note of warning in his voice. “Do as I said. Give it a drop.”

Dream huffed and reached for the potion bottle hesitantly with one hand, still holding the little mouse in the other. He slowly lifted the glass up to the mouse’s snout and watched as the rodent gave the bottle’s contents a cautious sniff. Immediately, it began to squeak and squirm in Dream’s grasp.

Grimacing, Dream tilted the bottle little by little until a single fuschia drop spilled into the mouse’s mouth.

The effect was instantaneous. Dream gasped when the creature all at once went limp in his hand. Dream prodded the little rodent with one finger, trying to get it to stir, but he received no response.

Its pink eyes were glazed over. The mouse was dead.

Dream’s hands were trembling as he placed the rodent down on the table.

“Wh-why…? What…” Dream stuttered over his words, at a loss for what to say.

The little mouse was _dead_. It was dead, and he’d killed it.

“Oh, calm down, Clay,” his father said, placing a hand on his shoulder in what was supposed to be a soothing gesture. “It was only a mouse. Countless die in the name of progress each and every day.”

Dream swiped at his eyes. When had he started crying?

His dad removed his hand and turned to Schlatt.

“Jebediah. The Diricawl survived the potion, but the mouse did not. Explain.”

Schlatt straightened in his seat and met Mr. Selwyn’s gaze evenly.

“Well, the Diricawl is a magical beast, Sir,” the boy answered in a level voice. “You said that Wart of Nether acts as a magical amplifier. The mouse was non-magical, so it didn’t _have_ any magic to amplify. That’s why it died.”

Mr. Selwyn gazed at Schlatt with unmistakable pride in his eyes.

“Well done,” the wizard said. “You have the makings of a fine spagyrist, Jebediah.”

The Slytherin boy beamed at the praise, "Aw, you flatter me, sir," he replied. If Dream didn’t know any better, he’d have thought Schlatt was _blushing_.

Dream tore his eyes away from his roommate, gazing at all the potions scattered across the room. Hundreds and hundreds of potion bottles, with a countless number of possible effects. A wave of nausea suddenly gripped his stomach.

“W-why do you need all these potions, Dad?”

Dream’s father’s lips quirked up at the question.

“I don’t,” the wizard replied. “No one does. In fact, these potions were developed as a side project of sorts. My discovery pertaining to Wart of Nether will undoubtedly put my name in future history books, but I have devoted myself to a much more noble cause.”

Mr. Selwyn paused to look at Dream once more, and Dream was taken aback by the raw intensity suddenly reflected in his father’s gaze.

“Clay. My son. I say this not just as your father, but as someone who can recognize a promising young wizard when he sees one. You have so much potential. I brought you here in the hopes that you will help me with my research.”

Dream paused, his heart pounding loudly in his chest.

His dad just said he had potential. Not only that, but his dad wanted _his_ help.

In spite of the wariness he’d felt when he’d first accompanied his father to Caerphilly, Dream felt a fuzzy warmth spread through his chest at his father’s praise.

“You see, boys,” Mr. Selwyn continued, “my experimentation has left me with many questions, but the overarching one is this: what is it that allows you and I to wield magic in the first place? What inherited qualities do _we_ possess that non-magical people, such as Squibs, do not? In the cases of pureblood Squibs, our blood, like theirs, is pure. So why, then, can they not perform magic?”

Dream’s brow furrowed as he contemplated his dad’s words. “Uh...bad luck?” he guessed.

Selwyn shook his head. “That’s just it. For generations, Squib births have been regarded as unfortunate tragedies. But what if we could find a cure to the Squib condition?”

Dream chanced a look at Schlatt. The other boy was smiling.

“Think about it,” Mr. Selwyn went on. “Squibs in our world live as second-class citizens. Some are so ashamed by their lack of magical abilities that they abandon our world to go live in the Muggle one. And why? Why do so many magical families sit by while their own non-magical children suffer? It’s unnecessary!”

Dream had never seen his father so impassioned about anything in his life. The man’s face was alight with fiery determination.

“Could you do it?” Dream blurted out. “Do you really think you could find a cure, Dad?”

His father smiled and turned back to look at him and Schlatt.

“Yes, Clay. I think _we_ could find a cure. Together.”

Against his better judgement, Dream found himself smiling too.

“You two are both promising young wizards of noble descent. I share this knowledge with you in the hopes that you will share my vision. Over the past two years, I have been working closely with an elite team of magical researchers. We have performed several tests on volunteer participants and have seen promising results. I believe we are very close to curing Squibness, and I want both of you by my side when we finally find the cure.”

Dream stood, silent and wide eyed, in awe at his father's words.

His father wanted to cure Squibs? Was that even possible?

 _He’s not a good person, Dream. Don’t trust him,_ screamed a voice in the back of his mind.

 _But he’s doing something good,_ Dream thought back.

It didn’t make sense. Why would his father, his _evil, terrible, racist_ father, care so passionately about curing something that didn’t even affect him?

Dream’s father wasn’t the selfless type.

Unless…

Was he?

The facts stared Dream in the face. His dad had taken in an orphan out of the goodness of his own heart, had even gone so far as to take it upon himself to search for a cure for Schlatt's affliction. His dad had given the boy clothes and food and even _pocket money_. That wasn’t something a bad person would do.

Plus...he wanted Dream to be by his side.

His dad _cared_ about him. He wanted Dream’s help. He didn't see Dream as a nuisance or disappointment, but as someone _capable_. Someone who could do something great.

“I’ll do anything I can ta help, Sir." Schlatt declared, snapping Dream out of his thoughts. "This is... this is an _insane_ opportunity! I can't even— I never would've— your family has done so much for me, I don't think I'd ever be able to say no to ya."

Selwyn smiled at the boy's words, gazing at him with pride. “Thank you, Jebediah. You may not be a Selwyn by blood or by name, but I already consider you family.”

Schlatt blinked in shock at the statement. “Wow, th-thank you, Sir," he choked out, frantically swiping at his eyes that threatened to spill tears of gratitude down his face. "That uh… that means more than you’ll ever know.”

Mr. Selwyn nodded and turned back to his son. “Dream,” he stated, without an ounce of hesitation.

Dream’s mouth fell open in shock. His father had _never_ used his preferred nickname before.

“I know we have had our disagreements in the past,” his dad continued, "but this cure has the potential to help _millions_ of people around the world. The Selwyn name will become famous globally. For the _right_ reasons. Can I trust you to help me with this research?”

Dream’s heart stuttered hopefully in his chest. After several moments, he nodded.

“Of course I will, Dad.”

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


“You can’t be serious, Dream.”

Dream had rushed to tell George the news as soon as he’d returned from Caerphilly. Although his dad had told him to keep the quest for a cure a secret, he couldn’t _not_ tell George.

When it came to keeping secrets, best friends didn’t count. Everyone knew that.

But where Dream had expected George to be just as excited about his dad’s project as he was, the other boy had simply reacted with a scoff and a dismissive wave.

Dream huffed. “I _am_ serious, George. All this time we thought my dad was an evil mastermind, but he’s been working nonstop to find a cure for millions of people!”

George rolled his eyes and took another sip from his water bottle.

“Dream, why would a powerful alchemist need a _twelve-year-old’s_ help?” he asked. “Everyone knows you can’t just _give_ someone magic. It’s something you’re born either with or without. Your dad is _obviously_ manipulating you."

Dreams brows furrowed at the accusation, “But that’s the _thing_ , George. No one’s really ever tried to cure it before! With my dad’s research, we’ll actually be able to help Squibs instead of leaving them to live helplessly as second-class citizens!”

George took several steps back and stared at Dream as if the Slytherin boy had suddenly sprouted a second head.

“Are you _high_ on something? This is your _dad_ we’re talking about. The one with the hit list, Dream! The one who didn’t want you to be my friend because he thinks my blood is filthy!”

“No, George. We had to have been wrong. Dad hasn’t tried to stop me from hanging out with you once this summer. Besides,” Dream said, “if he really thought non-magical blood was filthy, why would he work so hard to try to cure the Squibs?”

“You say _cure_ like there’s something wrong with them, Dream.”

Dream blinked a few times. “Well, yeah. They can’t do magic.”

George shot Dream a look through narrowed eyes.

“Are you saying there’s something wrong with not being able to do magic, Dream? Because my own _parents—”_

“—aren’t related to wizards, Gogi! It’s different. Squibs are born to magical parents, so they _should_ be able to perform magic. The fact that they can’t means there’s something wrong with their genetics that we can probably fix.”

George’s expression morphed into the anxious one that Dream hated.

“You...you’re really scaring me, Dream,” the Muggle-born admitted, running a hand through his dark hair nervously.

Dream took several steps towards his friend and placed his hands on the shorter boy’s shoulders.

“Why, though?” he asked. “This is _good news_ , George. My dad isn’t the crazy lunatic we thought he was. He’s just an alchemist trying to do good in the world. Whoever wrote the hit list was probably trying to frame him because they _knew_ it’d be easy to blame pureblood supremacist crap on my family.”

George averted his eyes.

“By that logic, Dream, I shouldn’t be able to do magic at all since I was born to Muggles,” George murmured. “Does that mean there’s something wrong with me? Does that mean I need to be fixed?”

Dream immediately enveloped his friend in a hug.

“No, no, _no_ , George. Don’t be stupid,” he mumbled into his friend’s shoulder. “Of course nothing’s wrong with you.”

Dream let go of his best friend to look him in the eyes.

“Do you know what makes me the most excited about this research, George?” he asked the shorter boy. When George shook his head, Dream continued. “When we figure out how to cure Squibs, we’ll probably be able to give magic to everyone else in the world, too.”

George’s eyes widened. “You mean—”

“ _Yes,_ George! Magic won’t just be a wizard thing. We’ll probably be able to give magic to all the Muggles, and then the stupid International Statute of Secrecy won’t have to exist anymore. There won’t be any fighting or discrimination because everyone will be equal. Doesn’t that sound amazing?”

Several moments passed in silence while George stared back at Dream through his goggles. Eventually, the Ravenclaw blinked and took a step back.

“I trust you, Dream, but I don’t like this.”

Dream’s face fell.

“I don’t like the idea of you spending all day in a laboratory with your dad. It just…” George trailed off and looked up at Dream helplessly. “It just feels dangerous.”

At that, Dream crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.

“He’s my _dad_ , George. He’s finally treating me like I’m an equal. He’s letting me _help him save the world_ ,” Dream insisted. When George still looked unconvinced, Dream shuffled his feet and said, in a much quieter voice, “He even called me _Dream_. He’s never done that, before.”

George’s eyes softened. A few seconds passed before the other boy took a deep breath and broke the silence.

“Alright. I still don’t like it, but I can see how excited this whole thing is making you,” George acknowledged with a tilt of his head. “If spending more time with your dad makes you happy...then go ahead, Dream. Just _please_ don't do anything stupid.”

“Of course, Gogi. It’ll all turn out great. You’ll see,” Dream reassured his friend.

George reached out one hand to Dream, his pinky outstretched. “Promise?”

Without hesitation, Dream extended his own hand and linked their little fingers firmly.

“I promise.”

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


July flew by in a blur of morning trips to Wales and afternoons spent with George. Soon enough, Dream’s birthday was right around the corner.

“D’you think you might do anything special this year?” George asked one evening while the boys chatted idly in the park.

Dream hummed thoughtfully, turning his face towards the low-hanging sun. Eventually, the blond shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know. Probably not. I’ll probably have cake with my family and then hang out with you until I go to bed. You know, the usual.”

George adjusted his white glasses and absentmindedly picked at his nails. “You never seem to want to invite anyone.”

“Who would I invite?”

“Come _on,_ Dream. As if you don’t have friends. You could write to Sapnap and he’d come. What about Techno or Wilbur? Eret?”

Dream blew a breath out of his nose and shook his head. “I don’t really wanna be a bother.”

“A _bother_?” George rolled his eyes. “It’s called being a _friend._ What about your Housemates? Schlatt would probably come if you asked him to. Maybe even Minx, depending on how you phrased the invitation—”

George continued to say something about birthday celebrations, but Dream tuned him out at the mention of Schlatt.

After his dad started bringing both of them into work, Dream’s relationship with the other boy wasn’t nearly as stiff as it had been before. They weren’t quite _friends,_ per se, but Dream no longer felt like Schlatt hated his guts.

Trust was a fragile thing. Dream knew it would take a while for the long periods of silence between them to not feel awkward. For now, the anger had faded, leaving only lingering resentment and guilt in its wake.

Schlatt might never be his friend again, but Dream had come to terms with that possibility. After all, it was entirely his fault. He just needed to finally take the initiative and apologize like a normal person. Or maybe...maybe if he waited long enough, it'd all work itself out in the end. His dad hadn't just given him an opportunity to save the world, but one to save his friendship.

As the thoughts slowly died down, Dream turned his attention back to George, noticing that the shorter boy was looking at him expectantly. probably having asked Dream a question.

“Uh…” the blond grimaced, searching for something to say. “Y-yeah, sure? Sounds good!"

George groaned and shook his head. “Of course you weren’t listening. I swear, sometimes talking to you is like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall.”

“Sorry! I was distracted,” Dream apologized. “What were you saying?”

“I was _saying_ that I probably won’t be able to get you a big present this year. My nan is sick and my dad’s having problems at his work, so I don’t even get pocket money anymore,” George confessed with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Dream. I wanted to get you something special.”

Dream reached out and ruffled George’s dark hair, causing the other boy to let out an annoyed whine.

“You know I don’t give a crap about presents, George,” Dream said softly, shrugging his shoulders. “To be honest, you could never get me anything ever again and I wouldn’t care.”

George looked down at his feet. “I know. Still.”

Dream’s heart broke a little at how _sad_ his best friend looked. If there was one thing he hated more than Anxious George, it was Sad George.

“Cheer up, Gogi,” Dream said, giving the other boy a nudge. “You’re already my birthday present.”

George spluttered at the words, his cheeks going bright red. Dream smiled.

Embarrassed George he could handle. Embarrassed George was fun.

“ _Dream_! D-don’t...you’re such a... _ugh_. I hate you,” Embarrassed George stammered.

“No you don’t. You _looooove_ me.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


Dream’s dad bought him a kitten for his birthday.

“I know how much you Hogwarts students love keeping little creatures in your dormitories,” he said as he presented the feline to Dream at breakfast. “I had a toad when I was younger, but your mother seemed convinced you’d like this better.”

Dream stared at the adorable furry bundle in disbelief.

“You mean...I have a cat now?” he asked with wide eyes.

His father nodded and leaned forward to place the creature in Dream’s eager hands. The kitten settled comfortably into his arms, letting out a rumbling purr as he stroked it's head. His heart nearly melted as he paused for a moment and the kitten nudged his hand with its nose, beckoning for more scratches.

“Thank you so much,” Dream murmured softly, eyes still trained on his new pet. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

His mother spoke up from across the table to answer his question.

“She’s a little girl,” she said, smiling at the way her son hugged the kitten tight to his chest.

“It’s not fair!” Drista pouted, crossing her arms and huffing in her seat. “I want a kitty, too! Why can’t I have one?”

Schlatt snorted and gave the little girl a pat on the head. “Let's give it a few years, kid. Learn how to take care of yourself first before tryina raise an animal.”

“But I _can_ take care of myself!”

“Says the girl who won’t bathe unless someone forces her into the tub,” Schlatt teased.

Drista’s face went all red. “I don’t like baths,” she grumbled.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Dream’s mom interrupted, “what will you name her, Clay?”

Dream pursed his lips and considered the kitten for a few moments. She was an interesting mix of color: while she had darker brown tabby stripes, the fur on her back was an assortment of mottled tortoiseshell black and orange. The most endearing thing about her, however, were the fluffy white patches of fur on her chest and tummy along with her four white paws that made it look like she was always wearing socks.

“You could call her Socks,” Schlatt suggested, as if reading Dream’s mind.

 _Socks_. It was cute, he supposed, but for whatever reason it didn’t feel quite right.

“I like her little white patches,” Dream said, eyes lighting up as the perfect name came to him. “That’s it! I’ll call her Patches!”

Drista blew a raspberry. “That’s a stupid name. You should call her Princess Fluffy!” the five-year-old exclaimed.

Dream rolled his eyes and tucked the sleeping kitten closer to himself. “No, I like Patches. It’s perfect.”

His father shrugged and reached into the pocket of his robes. Dream watched him pull out a small silk bag and set it on the table.

“Go on. It’s for you,” Mr. Selwyn said.

Dream reached down and picked up the bag curiously. Its contents made small jingling sounds as Dream loosened the drawstring. When he opened it enough to see inside, he gasped.

“Wait, what?” he said, eyes widening in surprise at the gold coins inside the bag. “Is this...how much money is this?”

“Fifteen galleons,” his dad answered.

Schlatt whistled.

“That’s a lotta coin,” he said, nudging Dream with his elbow. “Try not to spend it all in one place, Dreamy.”

Dream swallowed audibly and looked up at his dad, a question in his eyes.

“Are...are you sure? I don’t even know what I’d _spend_ all this money on, Dad.”

Mr. Selwyn sat back in his chair and smiled.

“You’re not a child anymore, Clay. You’re thirteen. I trust you not to be foolish with your money. Besides,” Selwyn added, “I consider this lump sum a thank you gift of sorts.”

“You’re thanking _me_? For what?”

Schlatt suddenly grinned and glanced between father and son excitedly.

“Oh, man, he doesn’t know yet!” the Slytherin boy exclaimed, “Tell ‘im, Sir!”

Mr. Selwyn chuckled. “Just two days ago, our little Caerphilly project was approved by the Ministry for official government funding. We’ll be expanding our research, soon.”

Dream’s jaw dropped. “The _Ministry?_ You mean the actual Ministry?”

“Indeed. I met with a few representatives in Wales. They agreed that our findings looked promising. We’re getting closer to finding a cure.”

The news filled Dream with a giddy new warm feeling. He suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to sprint outside and tell George immediately. Not wanting to be rude, dipped his head respectfully towards his parents.

“After I get Patches settled upstairs, can I go see George? _Please_?” he asked in the most respectful tone he could muster. To his delight, his father didn’t so much as bat an eye at the request.

“I don’t see why not,” the wizard said. “Put your birthday money away, first, though. And don’t stay out all day.”

Dream eagerly sprinted upstairs before his dad had a chance to change his mind.

A kitten, money, _and_ drama-free time with George? His father really _had_ changed.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream found that the ride to Hogwarts was a lot comfier with a cat snuggled in his lap.

All of his friends had, predictably, fallen in love with Patches. George in particular wouldn’t stop asking Dream every five seconds if he could pet her. Though it was a tad inconvenient to have to pass the kitten back and forth what felt like a hundred times, Dream couldn’t complain; Patches clearly loved all of the attention.

Once all of the initial excitement of seeing all of their school friends again had passed, their little group of friends settled down in their usual compartment and began the familiar routine of swapping summer stories.

“My parents took us on holiday to Germany again for the first half of the summer,” Wilbur shared. “Their friends’ daughter was supposed to start at the Durmstrang Institute this year, but my mum convinced them that she’d fit in much better at Hogwarts, so they enrolled her here, instead! You lot will love her, she’s very sweet.”

“Nah,” Sapnap called out. “A first-year? I don’t hang out with babies.”

Dream snorted and kicked the younger boy in the shin, causing him to yelp.

“You’re _twelve_ , Sappitus,” Dream reminded him. “You can’t exactly call the first-years babies.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Sapnap grumbled, adjusting his bandana.

“Anyway,” Eret interrupted, “I read something interesting in the paper last week, Dream. You must’ve had an eventful summer.”

Dream raised an eyebrow at the Ravenclaw’s statement. In response, Eret sighed and opened his mouth to elaborate.

“I saw a photo of your dad shaking hands with the Minister for Magic. Something about being promoted to Head Researcher of...something?” Eret explained. “That must’ve been exciting.”

Dream glanced at Schlatt and saw that the other Slytherin was smiling to himself.

“Yeah,” Dream replied nonchalantly. “He’s been working hard with a bunch of other alchemists. It’s pretty cool, I guess.”

“Well _I_ heard a rumor that he’s trying to cure Squibness,” Wilbur supplied. Techno, who had begun dozing off on the other side of the train compartment, suddenly perked up at the words.

“ _Cure_ Squibness?!” he asked incredulously.

Wilbur shrugged. “It’s only a rumor. My parents know a lot of people in the Ministry.”

Techno huffed and shook his head. “Well, it’s stupid. Ya can’t _cure_ someone if there’s nothin’ wrong with ‘em in the first place.”

George nudged Dream in the side, shooting him an _I-told-you-so_ look.

“C'mon, he’s not _actually_ tryin ta do that, right Dream?” Techno asked the blond.

Dream hesitated. He didn’t want to fib the truth, but he also didn't know how much of his dad’s research was public yet, so he responded with a shrug. “I don’t know much about what he’s doing,” he lied.

“Well, _I_ wanna know what the Blade did this summer,” Schlatt interrupted, pointedly changing the topic of conversation and nudging Techno’s side. “Didja get into any fights or somethin, pal? Looks like you've been avoidin the barber!”

Techno rolled his eyes, nudging Schlatt back and tucking a long strand of brown hair behind his ear. “'S just a hastle to go n' cut it all the time. It's just gonna grow back, anyways." He grumbled.

Sapnap snorted. "Wow, look out guys, we've got an edgelord on our hands!"

"Alright, relax. It's just hair, guys." Techno huffed.

Schlatt nodded. "Yeah, sure, nothing wrong with changin up your style from time to time. So, what’s the next step? You gonna dye it, too?”

"If he’s too lazy to _cut it_ , what makes you think he's gonna go and _dye it_?" Dream snickered.

"Well, _he_ doesn't need to go dye it," Schlatt winked, miming a flick of his wand.

Techno scooted away from the Slytherin, grimacing at the implications of his words as he held onto his own head. "None of you are gettin’ access to my hair. You'll have ta _kill_ me for it!"

"Well, now I'm curious. What color _would_ you dye your hair, Techno?" Wilbur asked.

Techno furrowed his eyebrows at the roommate sitting beside him, clutching his hair even harder. "Don't go gettin’ any ideas, Wil, or I'll dye my _hands_ red with your blood."

The entire compartment looked taken aback by the statement, but Wilbur merely chuckled, patting Techno on the shoulder. "I won't, I won't, we haven't even learnt that spell yet!" He assured him.

"Yeah, that's a sixth year spell," Eret confirmed, nodding along.

"Hmmm…" Techno hummed, his shoulders relaxing as he realized his hair was safe. "I dunno, haven't really thought about dyein’ it that much, 's not really somethin’ I'm plannin’ on doin’."

"Wow, does Technoblade not have an answer to something for once?" Schlatt chuckled.

"Pink." Techno declared instantly.

Schlatt blinked at the answer. "Okay, uh, guess he does."

Eret grinned. "Hell yeah, dude, that's a great color!"

"Oh yeah, the ladies I know would _totally_ be lookin for a guy with long pink hair." Schlatt chuckled.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with guys wearing pink!" Eret declared, "Gender roles are totally overdone.”

"Oh, I was bein serious!" Schlatt replied hastily. "I'm not some 'color equals gender' asshole, Minx would probably start _salivating_ at a guy with pink hair!"

"Minx? Maybe...I should reconsider." Techno muttered, tugging at his hair nervously.

Dream’s dad wasn’t brought up for the rest of the train ride, thankfully. Soon enough the friends settled into comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional request to play with Patches.

When the majestic outline of the castle came into view through the window, Dream couldn’t help but smile to himself.

This was going to be a great year. He could feel it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to AO3 statistics, WE WANT MORE COMMENTS. Please. Kudos and comments make my day. It's a real addiction. We get high off your comments. We read every single one! 
> 
> Silent readers are the death of fanfiction. If you want us to keep updating, let us know what you thought about this chapter!
> 
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> Gra55's tumblr: extragrassydetails.tumblr.com


	16. Chapter Sixteen || Year Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Third year begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! Happy new year!!!
> 
> First: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR COMMENTS! Who knew that shameless begging actually _works?_ You guys made me so so so happy :D 
> 
> grass and I both hope y'all enjoy the update!

Patches spent the entire Sorting Ceremony cuddled in Dream’s lap.

At first he thought that the bustling energy of the Great Hall would frighten her, but the kitten remained completely calm as he carried her over to the Slytherin table and took his seat. She didn't even flinch when Minx kicked Schlatt under the table and he called her a cow. Hardly moving when Minx screamed like a banshee in response and tried to launch a fork at Schlatt in retaliation.

Dream smiled as he scratched the kitten under her chin. Patches was _definitely_ a special cat.

Once the students were all more or less settled in the Great Hall, McGonagall rose from her seat at the High Table and cleared her throat, preparing to address the crowd.

“Good evening, students.”

Murmured greetings swept through the hall as everyone acknowledged their headmistress. McGonagall waited for everyone to quiet down before continuing.

“It is, once again, September first, which means it is the beginning of another academic year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I hope that all of you had a pleasant break from your studies and wish you all success in your upcoming classes. Now, please give a warm welcome to the entering first-years!"

A smattering of polite applause rose up from the Slytherin table while the rest of the students cheered enthusiastically. Dream watched as the first-years were marched into the Hall and ushered before the sorting hat, which was soon opening its mouth to sing its annual song.

"Is it just me or do these songs get worse and worse each year?" Schlatt grumbled two minutes in.

"It's definitely _you_ that's getting worse each year," Minx retorted with an eye roll, earning herself a jab to the ribs.

Before Minx could say or do anything else to Schlatt, the song came to a close and the sounds of applause filled the Hall once more. She huffed and glared daggers at Schlatt as McGonagall proceeded to read out the first-years names for sorting.

“Astelic, Astelica!”

A girl with tanned skin and long brown hair hopped out of the crowd, taking a seat on the rickety stool. While the Sorting Hat contemplated its decision, her eyes scanned the Great Hall, finally resting on the Slytherin table.

As though forgetting that she was seated in front of the entire school, the first-year suddenly sprang up and waved in the direction of the Slytherin third-years. In an instant, the entire student body turned to see what the commotion was about.

The person sitting beside Dream let out a small chuckle, flicking aside his white and black fringe before waving back at the girl.

"Gryffindor!" the sorting hat announced finally, abruptly ending the disruption and leading to the Gryffindor table erupting into whoops and cheers.

"Who the hell was _that_?" asked Schlatt, turning to the third-year quidditch player once the new Gryffindor was seated at her table.

"No idea," GB80 shrugged, though the smirk plastered across his face told another story. "Most likely a fan of mine. I'm really popular on the quidditch field, you know. The kid probably recognized me and just couldn't contain herself.”

"Right, and I'm Albus Dumbledore," Minx snorted, rolling her eyes.

GB80 sighed. "Fine. If you _must_ know, her name is Astelic and she’s actually my long lost sister. We've only just been reunited now, today, thanks to Hogwarts. How crazy is that?"

Dream gave GB80 an amused look. "Right, whenever I meet _my_ long lost siblings I wave at them and then go sit somewhere else," he replied, scratching Patches between her ears.

"For some reason, it feels like you guys don't believe me.”

The conversation died off as a few more names were called. Eventually a boy named _Green, Samuel_ was called up to the Sorting Hat. He was wearing a ridiculous pair of tinted sunglasses that slid too far down his nose as he took his seat on the stool.

When the hat didn't instantly call out his House, he began looking over the Hall as well, a mischievous grin spreading across his face when he spotted the Slytherin table.

With a quick glance at the Gryffindors, _Green, Samuel_ leaped from the stool and waved his hands wildly at GB80 just like Astelic had.

The black and white haired third-year looked taken aback when the attention of the entire Great Hall once again fell on him, but he quickly composed himself and waved back.

Before the first-year on the stool could open his mouth to say anything, however, the Sorting Hat declared him a Hufflepuff and sent him running off to the yellow table.

From his spot in the Hall, Dream could see Astelic lean over and smack the Hufflepuff on the head as he walked past her table.

"Okay, and who was _that_?” Schlatt questioned, kicking their roommate under the table. “Your long lost nephew?"

"How'd you guess?" GB80 snickered, avoiding the kick with expert ease. "To be completely honest, though, I actually _don't_ know who that guy is. I think he was just making fun of Astelic, and that's always funny."

"That's not very brotherly of you, Gémure-Boye," Schlatt remarked.

"Oh yeah? What do _you_ know about being an older brother?" the quidditch player challenged. "I don't remember you saying you have any siblings."

Schlatt paused, glancing at Dream nervously as he pursed his lips in consideration.

Dream looked away. He knew exactly what— or rather _who_ — the other boy was thinking of.

"Well, I have a, uh…" Schlatt trailed off, itching the back of his head.

A strange feeling twisted around in Dream's stomach as he watched his roommate struggle to come up with something to say. Memories of Drista running right past Dream and straight into Schlatt’s arms flashed through his mind. Memories of his parents praising Schlatt, smiling at him, thanking him for being so kind to their daughter. Memories of Drista laughing, cheering, giving him her favorite toy.

_Schlatt’s a better brother than you’ll ever be_.

"He has a little sister," Dream blurted out.

Minx glanced between the two of them as Schlatt's head snapped in Dream’s direction and the two boys locked eyes.

His father’s words echoed in Dream’s head. _You may not be a Selwyn by blood or by name, but I already consider you family._

"A sister? Huh." GB80 glanced at Schlatt before turning to Dream. "How do _you_ know?"

"Maybe if you didn't always ditch us for quidditch, you'd get to know your roommates a little bit," Dream replied with a shrug.

"Oh come on, it's not my fault quidditch is more interesting than you guys," he chuckled. "No offense, but I'd rather take a bludger to the head than stare at a wall and swap stories with you two in our stuffy dorm room."

Minx snorted. "Honestly, this fuckin school probably put us all down in those piece of shit dungeons to suffocate us to death."

"Exactly! I can't stay holed up in some dimly lit room entertaining myself with nothing like some kind of _loser_ ," GB80 scoffed. "What kind of preparation does that give me for the real world? It’s not like when I’m older someone’s gonna _pay_ to watch me waste time in my room all day. I gotta spend as much time as I can _outside_ of the dungeons."

"What idiot would pay to watch you sit in your room all day, anyway?" Dream snickered.

Schlatt grinned. "Hey, who knows? Maybe in some parallel universe we all entertain the masses for a living and do dumb shit while holed up in our rooms for cash."

The other three blinked at him wordlessly for a second before bursting into laughter, garnering angry hushes from their fellow Slytherins.

"What kind of parallel universe is _that_?!" Dream cried.

"Just shut it, will you?" an irritated prefect hissed at them, silencing the third-years.

They turned back to the sorting ceremony just as _Nihachu, Niki_ took the stage. The girl had nearly entirely dark hair, save for two blonde strands in the front. A soft smile shone on her face as she caught sight of someone at the Ravenclaw table and gave a small wave. It was far less theatrical than what GB80’s fans had done.

"She's fuckin _gorgeous_!" Minx gasped, eyes fixed on the girl as the hat declared her a Hufflepuff.

"I think she's a friend of Wilbur’s," Schlatt remarked. "Coulda sworn I saw photos of her in their albums last time I hung out at his place. That was years ago, though, so don't quote me on it."

"That bastard's fuckin dead if he doesn't introduce me to her the first chance he gets."

"Minx, you might just be the last person in this entire fuckin school that Wilbur would want to introduce to his first-year Hufflepuff friend," Schlatt chuckled.

Minx glared at him, considering the silver utensils in front of her for a second before opting to kick him under the table.

Thankfully, the ceremony was nearly over by that point, so the prefects didn't need to waste any time in coming to quiet them down again. McGonagall soon ended her speech and waved her arms, causing food to materialize in front of the students on cue.

The third-years glanced at the food for a moment before sharing a knowing look. Months spent eating Ravenclaw food in the past only enhanced the mediocrity of the Slytherin meals, and all four of them knew there was no way they’d be staying at the green table for the best meal of the year.

Schlatt and Minx hardly waited another second before standing up from the bench and sprinting towards the Ravenclaws, leaving Dream and GB80 behind.

"So...I guess we're eating with Ravenclaw today," Dream said, pulling away from his seat as well.

"Nah, you guys can go ahead. I have a long lost sister to reconnect with. And apparently a nephew," the quidditch player snickered, waving him off.

Dream paused, crossing his arms. "Who is she _really_?" he asked.

"Family friend, her mom's a quidditch pro and her dad's a coach." GB80 shrugged. "My parents made me promise to babysit her when she got here, so it looks like I’ll have a new seating arrangement from now on.”

"That...sucks?"

"Eh, could be worse. Could still be hanging out with you guys."

Dream chuckled, shaking his head as he turned towards their friend group. "I'd sleep with one eye open if I were you, Gémure-Boye!" he called over his shoulder, stepping into the din of the crowd before his roommate could shoot back a retort.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Overall, the first month of third year had been quite pleasant for George.

What made the start of this school year so exciting was that he finally got to choose his own elective subjects. Unfortunately, since Muggle Studies had been made mandatory, he’d only gotten to pick two additional classes. The choice had been difficult, but in the end he’d selected Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.

When he first told Dream about his selection, the other boy had groaned and called him a boring nerd for not choosing the more exciting Care of Magical Creatures class or the legendarily bizarre Divination class. George stood by his decisions, however. He’d always loved maths, so when he found out that there was an entire class devoted to studying the magical properties of numbers, he instantly knew he had to take it.

As for Ancient Runes, well...it was a class he felt like he had to take for less pleasant reasons.

“You know,” George said to Dream one morning during breakfast, “I still can’t believe you called me a nerd for choosing Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, then proceeded to select the _exact same subjects_.”

Dream shrugged and shoved a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth.

“Yeah, Dream-boat,” Schlatt chimed in from a few seats over, “how could you pass up the opportunity to take Divination? I mean, talk about an easy grade.”

“Hey! I quite like Divination,” Wilbur protested. “I found our Tessomancy introduction fascinating. Who would have thought that tea leaves can unlock the future?”

Schlatt and Minx shared an amused look.

“Whaddya see in mine, then, Mr. Seer?” Schlatt snorted, passing his empty mug to the eager Ravenclaw boy.

Wilbur’s face screwed up in concentration as he assessed the dregs of Schlatt’s drink. Suddenly, his eyes widened and he broke into a grin.

“Oh, Schlatt, it’s wonderful! It looks like a little sun! That means you’ll experience great happiness!”

Schlatt snorted. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yes! And here—oh. Well, now that it’s upside down, it looks a bit like a skull, which means there’s danger in your path. Hmm…”

“Aww, darn. Keep lookin’, Wil, you'll find something.”

Wilbur’s concentration was broken, however, when a large barn owl abruptly flew over his head and dropped an envelope right into the empty tea mug.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Wilbur exclaimed, picking the letter out of the cup. “There go my predictions.”

“You’ll get ‘em next time,” Schlatt reassured him, patting his arm sympathetically.

Eret nudged Wilbur in the side and peered over his shoulder curiously.

“Who’s the letter from?” he asked.

Wilbur glanced at the envelope briefly before opening it. “My mum,” he said as he withdrew and unfolded the envelope’s contents. His eyes scanned the piece of paper for several seconds before he threw the thing on the table and groaned.

“What happened?” Eret questioned. Wilbur merely grunted and gestured to the letter, which Eret reluctantly picked up and began to read.

“ _Dear Wil_ ,” he read, clearing his throat. “ _Tommy came ‘round again yesterday and asked me for your school’s address. I told him it’d be easier for me to pass his message along, so enclosed you will find his letter. Love, Mum._ Who’s Tommy?”

Techno, who had been silent up until that point, let out a chuckle. “Wait, Tommy? That Muggle kid who moved in next door to you three months ago?” he asked, amused.

“Yes,” Wilbur sighed, “ _that_ Tommy.”

Techno snickered, “Alright, I have to see this, pass me that letter, Eret,” he waved a hand towards the paper while the other table members looked on in confusion. Once the letter was in his hands, Techno squinted at the print and began to read.

“ _Dear Big Man Wilbur,_ ” he began in his trademark monotone, “ _you said you were going to school in Scotland but your mum will not tell me where. Please tell me where. I need your help because a girl in my class fancies me and you are an expert at women and women are scary. My mum says I am too young to have a girlfriend but I will be eleven in April so that means I can probably get married soon. Anyways, please come back to Nottingham. From, Big T._ ”

Every single person at the table was cracking up by the time Techno finished reading.

“Did you just receive _fan mail_ , Wil?” George asked with a grin.

“More importantly, since when are you ‘an expert at women'?” Dream questioned teasingly.

Wilbur muttered something under his breath and snatched the letter back from Technoblade.

“I can't believe Tommy ruined my reading! The bugger's not even here!” He cried, scanning the paper to make sure Technoblade hadn't made up any of it. With a huff, he crumpled up the paper and stuffed it into his robe pocket, “How the _fuck_ does he manage to bother me without even being here physically?! This is what I get for being polite to new neighbors. I'm never helping someone move into a new house ever again.”

"That's probably for the best. You almost broke the statute of secrecy _and_ the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery because the boxes were too heavy for you," Techno snickered, earning himself a glare from Wilbur.

"Well at least I helped more than _you_! You just sat there while I worked my arse off!"

"Hey, I never agreed on doing any heavy liftin’. I came over, tryin’ to be all nice n sociable n not sufferin’ from a vitamin D deficiency, and then a movin' truck pulls up on your block outta nowhere!"

"It would've been incredibly rude not to help after seeing them all work so hard," Wilbur huffed.

"Well technically I _was_ helpin, just not physically."

"What the hell were you doin then?" Schlatt asked.

"I was babysittin’."

Wilbur’s eyes widened. "Wh— _sitting on the child_ does not count as 'babysitting'!" he spluttered.

Technoblade rolled his eyes. "He's a baby. I was sittin’ on him. It's in the name."

"You could have killed him!"

"Psh, nah," he waved off Wilburs concern with his hand. "He was havin’ the time of his life."

"He was _crying_!"

"Those were tears of joy."

Wilbur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Techno, he told his mum he wanted to file a bloody restraining order against you."

"In America, going to court is a love language."

Eret chuckled, "Last time I checked, this was the UK."

"Yeah! Over here when a child drinks our lemonade we aren't allowed to pin them to the ground and sit on them!" Wilbur exclaimed.

"Wilbur, it was a thousand degrees outside, alright? He drank my lemonade, my only source of hydration for miles. I could've died! I drop-kicked that child in _self defense_! Who knows what other damage he could've done if I hadn’t stopped him?!"

"You're a lucky bastard, you know that, Technoblade? Only you would manage to beat up a ten-year-old and have it coincidentally be the most dramatic ten-year-old in existence so his mum didn't believe him when he cried attempted murder."

"I plead the fifth."

"Your constitution doesn't apply here!"

Techno furrowed his eyebrows and sighed. "I never shoulda let you read my American History textbooks."

"They were actually quite fascinating," Wilbur remarked, straying away from the original conversation. "You know, I rather liked that Hamilton fellow."

"He was a slave owner, Wil."

"Oh." Wilbur blinked in surprise. "Well that's… unfortunate. It didn't say that in your textbook."

Techno snickered. "Say hello to the American education system."

Wilbur stared blankly at the table, letting out a deep breath through his nostrils. He seemed to be deep in thought.

"There there," Techno patted his shoulder awkwardly. "I'll uh… I'll let you borrow a really nice pen to write back to Tommy about his… women problems."

"Do you think I should mention you in the letter?"

"Uh, unless Tommy's suddenly gotten really cool, really quickly about the 'babysittin' and the chalk I stole from him and the favorite shirt I made fun of him for… I wouldn’t. He’d probably get his hands on a howler through sheer willpower and send it your way."

"Yeah, he probably would," Wilbur chuckled. "I reckon the last thing this school needs is his voice echoing throughout the Great Hall."

"Wilbur, please. Don't even joke about that.”

Wilbur sighed, turning away from the group to stare off into the dining hall contemplatively. All of a sudden, his eyes lit up as he spotted someone approaching their table. George turned his head and spotted Bad walking towards them with a timid-looking first-year girl trailing behind him.

“Niki!” he called out excitedly, waving the younger girl over. “There you are! I haven’t seen you since the school year started!”

The girl tucked a bleached strand of hair behind her hair and shrugged sheepishly. Bad put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“This little muffin said she was scared she wasn’t allowed to visit other tables,” the older Hufflepuff explained.

Wilbur snorted and gestured to the Slytherins sitting among the Ravenclaws. “Oh, you needn’t worry about that, Niki. Our prefects let us get away with House-mixing.”

“Yeah,” Eret added, “Philza’s the best. I wish all prefects were that cool.”

"That's _Head Boy_ to you," Techno corrected, rolling his eyes.

"Right, of course, of course."

Niki giggled. "I didn't really want to interrupt your friends, either. You guys always look like you're talking about really important things."

Techno snorted. "Just the other day Schlatt bet Minx that she could fit her entire fist in her mouth. I really don't think we're havin’ any intellectual conversations here."

"Shut the _fuuuu—_ rick up! That did _not_ happen!" Minx protested, slamming her fist on the table as she glanced at Niki nervously.

"You really shouldn't have taken the bet, Minx. That loss was embarrassing," Wilbur chuckled.

"You can fit your whole fist in your mouth?" Niki asked in her German lilt, tilting her head in question.

" _No!_ " Minx cried, at the exact same moment that Schlatt said "Yeah! Show her, Minx!"

"Stop it! I don't fuckin shove any fists in my mouth, okay?!"

"Language!" Bad chided.

"We all saw it, Minx!" Schlatt exclaimed.

Wilbur patted the seat beside him as the two Slytherins continued to bicker. Niki smiled, stepping around the table to take the spot.

As everyone else settled into their own conversations— or arguments— Bad caught Dream and George’s attention by slapping a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ on the table in front of them and pointing to the front page.

“Well, well, well!” he chuckled, “Would you take a look at that?”

“You’re actually subscribed to a _newspaper_? I thought you were fourteen, not forty,” Dream snorted.

“Ha, _ha._ Just look at the headline, you muffinhead!”

George peered at the paper over Dream’s shoulder, heart sinking when he caught sight of the headline.

_Wizarding Advancement Project: New Hope for Wizardkind?_ read the text in bold red font. Beneath the headline was a photograph of none other than Dream’s father in what looked to be a laboratory of sorts, surrounded by various cauldrons and potion bottles. George watched as the man in the photograph gave one of the cauldrons a little stir with his wand before smiling triumphantly at the camera.

Dream looked surprised for half a second before his expression morphed into one of nonchalance.

“Oh, yeah,” the Slytherin boy said with a shrug. “My dad’s an alchemist.”

“He’s not _just_ an alchemist!” Bad pointed out. “He’s the Head Researcher of the W.A.P.!”

Eret broke off from his conversation with Niki and Wilbur to stare at Bad perplexedly.

“What’s the W.A.P.?” he asked.

Bad adjusted his glasses on his nose and squinted to skim over the article. “It’s a...research project? A charity, maybe? It says here that they’re trying to find cures to ‘illnesses that have plagued wizardkind for millenia using new alchemical breakthroughs,’ whatever that means.”

Technoblade’s eyes narrowed at the older Hufflepuff’s words. “Lemme see that,” he demanded, holding out his hand and taking the newspaper from Bad.

“ _According to Clay Selwyn II, the W.A.P.’s Head Researcher_ ,” Techno read, “ _New advancements in the field of spagyric may lead to groundbreaking new treatments for illnesses such as Scrofungulus, Lycanthropy, and_ Squibness?!” he exclaimed, throwing the paper back down on the table. “I mean, Scrofungulus and Lycanthropy I get, but _Squibness_? C’mon, Dream!”

Dream glanced at the article hesitantly, “Well, how is Squibness any different than those other two?”

“Because it’s _not_ an illness.”

“How isn’t it an illness?! If someone is born to two wizards, shouldn’t they logically have magic? Magic plus magic equals magic!” Dream protested.

“By _that_ logic, no magic plus no magic should equal no magic. Is that what you’re implyin’ here? Does a wizard born to two non-magical parents _also_ have an illness? Do they _also_ need to be cured?” Techno challenged, raising his eyebrow.

Dream paused, pursing his lips together in thought. George stared at his best friend, locking eyes with him as Dream looked back up.

"No, of course not," he said decidedly.

"Then it isn't any different for Squibs," Techno concluded.

Perhaps sensing George’s discomfort, Dream let the matter rest. However, conversation at the table remained tense after that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time October was well under way, George was scoring _Outstanding_ s in most of his classes. It wasn’t particularly difficult for him to score high marks when he found the material interesting, and when it came to magic, George found _all_ of it interesting.

D.A.D.A. was no exception. George quite enjoyed learning about all of the various dark creatures that inhabited the world around him. Learning about how to dispel dark forces gave him a certain sense of security.

“Your homework on the practical defensive uses of the Seize and Pull Charm is due next Wednesday,” Professor Travers reminded the third-years at the end of one of their Friday lessons.

Dream rolled his eyes and nudged George with his elbow.

“Can I copy your notes later?” the Slytherin asked.

“I don’t understand why you refuse to take your own,” George huffed.

“I’m lazy. Duh.”

Their conversation was interrupted by their professor, who stepped in front of Dream’s desk to catch his attention.

“Dream,” she began, “I haven’t seen your father in a while, but do pass along my congratulations next time you write to him. I know how long he’s been waiting to have his research recognized by the Ministry.”

George had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at Professor Travers’ words. Ever since the start of the school year it seemed like everyone felt obligated to congratulate Dream on his father’s new research project, and George was growing tired of having their conversations interrupted by pointless praise.

“Thanks, Aurora. I’ll let him know,” Dream replied politely.

Techno, who was putting his books away behind them, overheard the exchange and muttered something under his breath, causing the professor’s eyes to snap in his direction.

“Yes, Mr. Technoblade?” she asked, raising a single eyebrow.

Techno’s expression was deadpan. “I jus’ think the Ministry shouldn’t bother recognizin’ pointless work. Curin’ Squibness is one of the stupidest ideas I’ve ever heard, Professor.”

George put his head in his hands and groaned.

_Not this argument again._

“But, Mr. Technoblade,” Professor Travers insisted, “we live in a new age of discovery. Soon, Squibness will be but a relic of the past. Think of how many people will benefit from the cure! It truly is marvelous,” she sighed wistfully.

Technoblade snorted and shot her a disbelieving look.

“Ma’am, you can’t cure someone who isn’t sick,” he said flatly. Beside him, Eret nodded.

“Yes, isn’t that quite...rude, in a way, Professor? To see lack of magic as something to be cured?” he asked nervously.

Professor Travers paused, seemingly considering the question.

“Mr. Eretson,” she finally said, “would it be ‘rude’ to offer sight to a blind man?”

Eret looked like a deer caught in the headlights, afraid to make the wrong move.

“Erm...no?” he offered, his voice cracking on the word.

The professor hummed and tilted her head. “And why not?”

“...Because you would be improving his quality of life. He’d be able to see things and be more independent and…” Eret trailed off, glancing nervously at those around him, “and...yeah.”

“Then _how_ ,” Professor Travers asked, “is offering Squibs magic any different?”

Techno leaned forward a bit in his seat. “ _Because_ ,” he said, “Squibs have a fine quality of life. Billions of people live long, fulfilling lives without magic. You don’t hafta—”

“Don’t blind people live long, fulfilling lives?” the Professor interrupted. “I’m sure most do. The fact, however, remains that blindness is a disability. If a child is born blind, we try to cure the child's blindness. If a child is born a Squib, it’s only common sense that we should try to cure the child’s Squibness.”

The room filled with whispers as the students processed their professor’s words.

“Ooh, she got you there, Techno,” Schlatt grinned. “The Blade just got _owned_.”

Techno closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. “No,” he grunted, “I did not get _owned_. This is all complete nonsense. You can’t go around talkin’ about this stuff like it’s—”

The bell sounded just then, cutting Techno off mid-sentence. The conversation came to an abrupt end as students hurried to collect their belongings and head off to their next classes. George would have been lying if he said he wasn’t relieved the discussion was over.

Or, it _would_ have been over if Dream hadn’t decided to bring it up again just minutes later as they were walking down the hall together.

“She _did_ make a point, though,” the Slytherin said.

George scoffed and crossed his arms. “What, where she compared Squibness to blindness? That was such rubbish, Dream, come on.”

“I don’t get why people are so uptight about it,” Dream stated. “It’s not like my dad’s trying to start another Wizarding war. His organization is _helping_ people.”

“The people don’t _need_ help!” George exclaimed. “Squibs shouldn’t have to be _given magic_ in order to be accepted into society, society should change its backwards attitudes.”

“It’s not backwards to want to help people. It’s like Aurora said: we live in a new age of discovery. Curing Squibness seems impossible to us now, but as we make more progress—”

“Excuse me,” a female voice interrupted from behind them, “what’s this I hear about curing Squibness?”

The boys turned around, surprised, and met the questioning gaze of Professor Borealis.

“Oh, hello, Professor,” George said politely, dipping his head in greeting.

“Hello, Mr. Davidson. Mr. Selwyn,” she replied. “Which class did you two have just now?”

Dream and George shared a look before Dream coughed out a reply.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” he said.

Professor Borealis pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing. “With Professor Travers, you said?”

“Um...yeah.”

“And she told your class that we will be able to ‘cure’ Squibness?”

George was quiet. _How many times in one day did people need to have the same argument?_ he thought to himself, frustrated. Dream just nodded in response to the professor’s question.

“Well,” Professor Borealis finally said, straightening up and smoothing her robes, “we have our next Muggle Studies lesson on Tuesday, if I am not mistaken…. I suppose I will have to rework my schedule a bit to correct these dangerous ideologies then.”

George looked at his professor hopefully. _Dangerous ideologies?_

“Run along, you two. I would hate to make you late for class,” the professor said dismissively before turning on her heel and vanishing down the corridor while George and Dream looked on curiously.

“Well that was…” Dream began, but George cut him off with a shake of his head.

“ _Please_ can we just go to Arithmancy?” he asked, voice a tad desperate. Thankfully, Dream didn’t push any more conversation as they made their way to their next class.

George hoped that whatever conversations their other professors had planned would not involve any more talk of Squibness and Dream’s dad. It wasn’t even noon and George already felt exhausted.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


The first Hogsmeade visit of the year happened two weeks into November.

“Here’s the plan,” Dream said to George on the morning of the trip as the third-years waited eagerly in the Great Hall. “First, we hit up Weasley & Weasley. Then, we—”

“Wait, the joke shop? I thought that was in Diagon Alley.”

Dream huffed. “Yeah, Gogi, they have another branch in Hogsmeade. Just shut up and listen!”

George rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, go on. We go to the joke shop. Then?”

“ _Then_ we’re gonna head to Honeydukes and grab one of everything they have. After that, we’re gonna check out Spintwitches Sporting Needs to just have a look at things, and _then_ we’ll grab butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks before finishing up with a visit to the Shrieking Shack.”

George shuffled his feet and ran a hand through his hair. “Dream...that sounds lovely, but…”

Dream raised an eyebrow. “But what? Please tell me you don’t want to go to Madam Puddifoot’s or something.”

“What? No,” George replied hastily. “It’s just...I don’t get pocket money anymore. This...this all sounds so expensive. I can probably pay for a butterbeer, but I won’t be able to buy much else.”

Dream looked at George like he’d gone crazy. “You...you’re worried about _money_?”

George’s face went bright red. “It’s not a big fuss or anything, I can just go with you to the shops and help you pick stuff out—”

“George!” Dream interrupted. “Don’t be stupid. I _have_ money.”

“I’m not just going to _take your money,_ Dream.”

“You wouldn’t be taking it, I’d be _giving_ it to you. You know what? Here,” the Slytherin said, reaching a hand into his robe pocket and pulling out a small silk bag. “Open your hand.”

Puzzled, George outstretched his left palm and waited. Dream proceeded to unceremoniously dump half of the bag’s contents into George’s hand with a grin.

George was stunned. Dream had given him literal gold.

“Dream!” he exclaimed, trying to hand the gold pieces back. “Blimey, Dream, how much money is this? Take it back!”

Dream rolled his eyes. “Relax, it’s just some of my birthday money. I only gave you, like, five galleons.”

“Wh—!? _Five galleons_?! Dream! That’s like, ninety quid!”

“What’s a quid?”

“It’s another word for— you know what? It doesn’t matter, you idiot, just take the money back!”

Before George could forcibly shove the coins down Dream’s robes, Professor Hagrid cleared his throat to catch everyone’s attention.

“Third-years! We’ll be off ter Hogsmeade now, so gather ‘round!” the half-giant bellowed.

Dream shot George a triumphant grin before scampering off to the front of the group. George grumbled and shoved the five gold coins into his pocket, fully intent on returning them later.

Soon the group of excited students was pressing forward, following Hagrid out onto the Hogwarts grounds and towards the castle’s main gates. George fell into step beside Wilbur and Eret, both of whom looked just as thrilled as George felt.

The group eventually stepped outside the large gates and began the trek through the Scottish hillside. It was cold, the air heavy with the promise of the first winter snow. George tucked his chin into his blue and bronze scarf, thankful for the slight warmth it provided him.

After about a ten-minute walk down a winding path, the students saw familiar cottages begin to pop up in the distance. George could see that several older students were already walking up and down the cobblestone streets of the village, chatting and laughing together in small groups.

“Everybody, stop and listen!” Hagrid announced, raising his hand and stopping a little ways away from the start of High Street. The third-years obediently quieted down and stared up at the professor with wide eyes.

“Since it’s yer first time here, I need to tell ye the rules,” Hagrid explained. “The most important one is this: no stayin’ out past curfew! Anyone caught outside the gates will face severe consequences.”

George eyed Dream in his peripheral vision and noted that the Slytherin had a mischievous smile on his face.

“Other than that,” the professor continued, “I don’t have much else to say ter ye. No leavin’ the village bounds. Any contraband ye purchase here can’t be brought back to the castle. Keep yer wits about ye.”

George nodded along with everyone else impatiently, only half listening to Hagrid’s speech. Like all the other third-years, he was much too excited to pay attention to lengthy lists of rules.

“Alright, run along. Go have fun. But be back by ten!” Hagrid finally concluded. The students immediately split off into their various friend groups and headed into the village.

“Are you guys coming to Weasley’s?” Dream asked Eret, Wilbur, and Techno as the group made their way downtown, walking fast.

“No,” Wilbur replied, “we’re stopping by Scrivenshaft’s.”

Dream quirked an eyebrow. “The quill shop?”

“Yes. The quill shop. Because we need _more_ stationery, apparently,” Techno deadpanned.

“We have to spread the word, Techno!” Wilbur exclaimed. “I must tell Mr. Scrivenshaft about the Paperchase! He’s probably never even _seen_ a pen before, the poor lad!”

George chuckled at his roommate’s antics. Dream just shrugged and waved the group of Ravenclaw boys goodbye before turning back to George, Schlatt, and Minx.

“Anyone remember where the place is? I haven’t been to Hogsmeade in forever.”

Thankfully, Minx seemed to know the layout of the village by heart. They soon found themselves standing in front of a very colorful building that looked out of place among the other quaint village shops and houses. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was bustling with activity; even a few Hogwarts staff members could be seen inside, perusing the store’s wares.

“Let’s go!” Dream cheered, wasting no time in throwing the shop’s doors open and ducking inside. Schlatt and Minx followed eagerly, but George suddenly found himself unable to move.

Because there, pinned to the wall of the joke shop, was a poster that made George freeze in his tracks.

_We need YOU to join the cause!_ proclaimed the poster in big bold letters. _Together we CAN cure Squibness! Stop by J. Pippin's Potions to donate a blood sample today. Brought to you by the Wizarding Advancement Project._

He felt like it had to be a joke. Even on what was supposed to be a carefree Hogsmeade weekend, the stupid W.A.P. wouldn’t leave him alone.

Suddenly overcome with anger, George reached forward and yanked the paper from the wall, hurriedly crumpling it into a tiny ball and chucking it into a nearby rubbish bin. He refused to think about idiotic blood statuses or Squib cures on his first weekend out with his friends.

When George finally ducked into the busy shop, he spotted Dream staring at a display in the back and quickly walked up to his oblivious best friend.

“Ha! Look at this,” Dream said, pointing to a sign at the back of the store advertising instant love potions.

George scoffed at the display. “Why would they _sell_ those?”

“To prank your crush. Duh.”

“Yeah, but _forcing_ someone to fall in love with you by _drugging_ them?”

“It’s not real love, it’s just a temporary infatuation. It’s supposed to be funny, Gogi.”

“I dunno…” George said, eyeing the cute little potion bottles suspiciously. “Seems pretty...rapey.”

“You think if I feed you one you’ll finally admit that you love me?” Dream asked, picking up a bottle and swishing the liquid around contemplatively.

George took several steps back from his friend. “Don’t get any ideas,” he warned.

“C’mon, George,” Dream teased. “Just say you love me. We all know it’s true.”

George felt his face heating up. “Put the bottle down, you idiot.”

“Alright, alright,” Dream conceded, setting the bottle down with a smirk. “I’m not gonna _drug_ you. I don’t need a love potion to get you to fall for me, anyway.”

They spent almost half an hour in the store perusing all of the various items. Dream purchased a variety of random gadgets for himself, but George still refused to spend a single sickle of his best friend’s money. After paying at the till, the two boys waited outside the shop for Schlatt and Minx to finish checking out.

They didn’t have to wait long. Dream’s two Housemates soon approached them outside with smiles on their faces and numerous shopping bags in their hands.

“Hey, Dream-boat, check this out!” Schlatt said, handing a corked vial of something to Dream. George could see that the liquid inside was a pretty cyan color.

“What is it?” Dream asked, giving the vial a closer look.

“It’s a cool thing Minx found in the back of the store. If you drink it, it makes your arms and legs invisible for a few minutes.”

Minx nodded and tipped back an identical looking vial. After several seconds, her entire body apart from her head seemed to vanish into thin air. The sight was terrifying.

“It’s called Missing Body Mixture!” her floating head exclaimed.

Dream’s eyes lit up. “That’s _so_ cool! Lemme try!”

Without further hesitation, Dream lifted the vial to his lips and swallowed the whole thing in one gulp. The other third-years eagerly waited for the blond’s body to vanish just like Minx’s had, but several seconds passed where nothing happened.

“Huh,” Schlatt said. “Maybe that one was a dud. I got a bunch, lemme—”

He was cut off abruptly when Dream doubled over and proceeded to empty the contents of his stomach right there in the street.

“ _Dream_!” George cried, stepping away from the mess of blue bile by Dream’s feet.

“I just—” Dream couldn’t get the words out through another awful retch.

“Dream, Buddy, let’s maybe find a professor or something,” Schlatt suggested nervously, glancing around for an adult who could perhaps help them out.

Dream kept heaving onto the cobblestones, and George noted with alarm that the other boy’s neck was beginning to break out in hives.

“Help!” Minx’s floating head cried. Luckily, Professor Hagrid overheard the commotion and quickly ran up to the group, grimacing when he saw Dream’s predicament.

“Oh, my. E’ryone stay calm!” he said, scooping Dream up effortlessly in his arms. “I’ll be takin this one back now. Jus’ go about yer day!”

George didn’t think twice before following Hagrid as the half-giant turned to go back to the castle. Schlatt reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

“George?” he asked. “You goin’ back so soon?”

George balked at the question. “Dream is _ill!_ Of course I’m going back.”

“Are ya sure? I’m sure Dream wouldn’t mind if you grabbed a butterbeer with us. He’d want you to have fun,” the Slytherin said with a shrug.

“What?! No! I have to go to Dream,” George insisted before turning on his heel and running after Hagrid’s quickly disappearing form.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


“The poor boy’s allergic to tarantula eyes,” Madame Abbott said with a sigh. “They’re a staple of invisibility potions.”

“But he’s alright?” George asked from his seat by the entrance of the Hospital Wing. He’d wanted to sit at Dream’s bedside, but the Matron had told him that he’d only get in her way. Madame Abbott smiled reassuringly and patted the Ravenclaw boy on the head.

“Yes, dear,” she answered. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Your friend will be right as rain in a few hours, but he needs to read labels more carefully from now on.”

The Matron turned her back on George to go check on something else, but George quickly reached out a hand and tugged on the back of her apron.

“May I sit with him now?” he asked pleadingly.

“Goodness, Mr. Davidson,” Madame Abbott exclaimed, “your friend isn’t dying or anything! Are you sure you wouldn’t rather return to Hogsmeade?”

“I’m sure.”

“Well, alright then. Go on,” she instructed, gesturing to the place where Dream’s bed was hidden behind a curtain. “He’s a bit drowsy from the medicines, I must warn you.”

George thanked the Matron earnestly before ducking behind the white curtain and taking a seat right at the foot of his friend’s cot. Dream appeared to be dozing; his face was pale, and George would have thought him dead if it weren’t for the regular rise and fall of his chest.

George sat there for about twenty minutes in near silence before he heard the sound of a door creaking open and footsteps entering the Hospital Wing.

“Hannah?” a voice called out.

George froze. Unless he was mistaken, that voice belonged to none other than the Headmistress herself.

His suspicions were confirmed moments later when he heard Madame Abbott respond.

“Oh, Headmistress McGonagall!” the Matron exclaimed. “Are you feeling alright? Have you come for a Pepperup Potion?”

From his spot behind Dream’s curtains, George heard McGonagall close the Hospital Wing door shut.

“No, I’m afraid not,” McGonagall said. “I have...some instructions for you, Hannah.”

There was a pause and some shuffling before the conversation resumed.

“Instructions? Of what sort?”

George heard McGonagall sigh. “I’ve just been approached by someone from the Ministry with a request.”

“Is it to do with the Hospital Wing?”

“Yes, unfortunately. I am choosing to share this with you now in case they approach you without my knowledge. The Ministry has expressed the desire to start collecting voluntary blood donations from Hogwarts students.”

There was a gasp from Madame Abbott. George’s heartbeat quickened in his chest.

“Blood donations?”

“Yes,” replied McGonagall seriously. “They say it’s for medicinal research. Regardless of their intentions, I told them I will not have them collecting samples from underage children at this school.”

“Does it…” Madame Abbott paused as if searching for the right words to say. “Does this have anything to do with that new Ministry initiative? The one led by Selwyn?”

George inhaled sharply at the mention of Dream’s father.

“I believe so, yes,” McGonagall answered.

George’s thoughts were racing at a million miles a minute. The poster in Hogsmeade was bad enough, but the W.A.P. wanted to collect blood samples _in Hogwarts_?

The thought of some Ministry official taking vials of blood, _his blood_ , to examine in some far off laboratory was enough to make him shudder.

“Anyway,” McGonagall said, clearing her throat, “if anyone approaches you about any sort of donation business, report it to me immediately. All this talk of curing Squibness as of late gives me a very bad feeling.”

“Of course, Headmistress. I’ll owl you straight away if I see anything suspicious.”

Before McGonagall left the room, George heard her pause and hover in the doorway.

“Be careful, Hannah,” she said in a low voice. “Not everyone understands that there are some things in this world we ought not to meddle with.”

Madame Abbott coughed nervously. “Would it be so bad? A cure, I mean.”

George could hear McGonagall take a deep breath.

“You are a Healer, Hannah. Your intentions are pure, but the same cannot be said of everyone in the Ministry. Our job isn’t to bend over backwards so that a few hypothetical Squibs can perhaps wield wands someday in the future.”

“But—”

“Our job is to protect the children here in the castle,” McGonagall stated firmly. “No matter the cost.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to AO3 statistics, only a small percentage of readers actually leave kudos and comments. If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider leaving kudos and a comment! It's free, anonymous, _and_ it lets us know you want us to keep writing! 
> 
> It's gonna be my (ken's) birthday next week and I'm going to the mountains, which means the next update might take a bit more time. But I'm bringing my laptop so hopefully I'll still be able to write :) I've also been working on some other little fic ideas, so those might be out at some point (this fic takes priority, though, don't worry).
> 
> My tumblr: kangarooken.tumblr.com  
> Gra55's tumblr: extragrassydetails.tumblr.com
> 
> See you next update! Lots of love!


	17. Chapter Seventeen || Year Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their third year continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhhhhh..........hey!
> 
> So...it's been a while. Like, 2 weeks exactly. Sorry about the long wait. I had a great vacation and fantastic birthday! Thank you to everyone who wished me well. Those little comments were lovely to read :D
> 
> This chapter was a BITCH. It was typed out in teeny tiny chunks over the course of 2 weeks while I was using questionable mountain wifi. I was looking after 6 kids so I didn't get a lot of free time lol. Also, this has _not_ been edited by Gra55 because they are super duper swamped with school, so sorry if it comes off suckier than usual. Blame me. 
> 
> All that being said...enjoy Ken's brain vomit!

George didn’t tell Dream about the conversation he’d overheard in the Hospital Wing.

It felt wrong to keep the information to himself; after all, Dream was his best friend and confidant. A part of George wanted to tell the other boy everything the second that Dream woke up from his potion-induced slumber.

But George was so _tired_.

He was tired of seeing Dream’s dad on the covers of newspapers every other day. He was tired of the tension that seeped into his everyday conversations in the Great Hall. Most of all, he was tired of the strain that the W.A.P. was putting on his relationship with his best friend.

So George kept quiet. It wasn’t like McGonagall’s warning had been _meant_ for his ears, anyway.

When Dream had finally recovered from his allergic reaction, George was quick to assure the Slytherin that everything was fine.

And everything _was_ fine, George kept telling himself. They spent the rest of their weekend bantering and playing gobstones and cracking jokes over dinner just like usual.

Everything was fine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No, Ms. Minx, it isn’t _fine_ ,” Professor Borealis snapped during Tuesday’s Muggle Studies lesson. Predictably, the W.A.P. was brought up mere seconds after class started.

“Why not? Professor, if a Squib wants to have magic and we can give them magic, fine! Who cares? Just give them magic!” Minx exclaimed.

Professor Borealis pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

“Ms. Minx,” she said after a few moments, “do you think Squibs _need_ to be cured?”

Something indiscernible flashed across Minx’s face before the Slytherin girl sat up a little straighter in her seat and schooled her expression into her usual bored stare.

“To be honest, Professor, I think we should just let them decide for themselves. I don’t understand all of this controversy,” she said evenly.

“...Right,” Professor Borealis continued, nodding. “And what of Muggles, then? If a Muggle-born wizard’s Muggle family wants magic as well, should we offer them magic?”

The class went silent at this. Professor Borealis’ eyes flickered over her students, pausing on Dream when she saw the Slytherin boy raise his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Selwyn?”

“I don’t see an issue with doing that,” Dream answered. “If everyone has magic, then everyone’ll be equal. Boom, no more racism.”

Techno snorted from his seat at the back of the class, causing everyone’s heads to snap in his direction.

“Oh, please,” he said. “You can’t honestly believe that. I’m just as much of a wizard as you are, yet your blood is supposedly ‘pure’ and mine is ‘filthy.’”

Dream opened his mouth to object, but Professor Borealis silenced him by holding up a hand.

“No, Mr. Selwyn,” the professor said, “Mr. Technoblade does have a point. If discrimination is rampant among Muggle-born witches and wizards, how can we expect attitudes to be any better towards _artificially_ magical people?”

Many students nodded in understanding. Others, Dream included, looked unconvinced but had the sense not to push the matter further.

“Now, then,” Professor Borealis said, clapping her hands to bring the class’ attention back to the front of the room. “There seems to be one central point of misunderstanding among witches and wizards today. That misunderstanding is the nature of our relationship with magic.”

The professor summoned a piece of chalk with her wand before turning and scrawling something on the giant blackboard. Chalk dust floated to the floor like snow falling from her fingertips. It took her a few moments to finish writing, but when she did, George saw three words written in capital letters.

_YOU_ _ARE_ _MAGIC._

Several students began to whisper curiously.

“You are magic?” Eret read out confusedly, voicing the question on everyone’s minds.

“Yes, Mr. Eretson.” Professor Borealis replied, her tone serious. “Magic is not something you _have_ , it is something you _are_.”

“I...I’m afraid I don’t quite understand, Professor,” Eret stammered.

Professor Borealis smiled and tilted her head. Her gaze was somehow simultaneously soft and intimidating as she appraised Eret.

“What are you, Mr. Eretson?”

The Ravenclaw boy paused and bit his lip. “I’m a student at Hogwarts?”

“You’re a wizard,” the professor said, turning to gesture towards the rest of the class. “ _All_ of you are. Magic is a part of your identities. If I were to take away your magic, you would all be different people.”

There was more murmuring, then, as her words sunk in.

“Professor,” said Minx, “if you took away my magic, I’d just be a Squib.”

Professor Borealis’ eyes twinkled with some sort of emotion as she turned her attention to the Irish girl.

“I disagree with you, Miss Minx. Magic has shaped your whole life up until this point. If I were to take it away from you now, you would still be a witch at heart, wouldn’t you?”

The conversation continued as Minx and a couple of other students debated the professor, but George was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to contribute to the class discussion.

His professor’s words struck a chord with him. They caused memories to resurface in waves and voices from his past to whisper in his ear.

  
  


_Dream in the forest._ _“You—you’re magical, George!”_

_Finlay on the ground. “You absolute freak!”_

_His mother, holding his Hogwarts letter in her hands._ _“We always knew you were a special boy, Georgie.”_

  
  


Up until that point, George had always thought of his life as being composed of two parts: _before_ and _after_ magic. But as he listened to his Muggle Studies professor lecture his class, he realized that there had never been a _before_.

His magic was an inextricable part of his identity. He’d always been different, even before he’d known why.

“Why do you think we have a Muggle Studies course in the first place?” Professor Borealis asked loudly, dragging George out of his contemplation. “Non-magical peoples have their own distinct cultures and identities. Squibs are no exception. To ‘cure’ them would be to replace them with different people, and that, in my view, is unacceptable.”

George could only stare at her with wide eyes as he absorbed the meaning of her statement. A few of his classmates still looked skeptical; Dream, in particular, was frowning, but he added nothing more to the discussion, for which George was thankful.

“Now, then,” Professor Borealis said briskly, clapping her hands together. “If I recall correctly, you were all supposed to have read about forms of Muggle transportation over the weekend. I have a short presentation I want to show you…”

George could barely pay attention to the rest of the class, his brain still stuck on their previous discussion.

_You are magic._

Dream had said something similar to him once, way back before they’d even received their Hogwarts letters.

  
  
  


_“Wait, Dream,” George had said as the taller boy began to walk away. “You promise that what you’re saying is real? It’s not just some… joke …right?”_

_Dream’s dirty-blond hair had looked pale under the light of the moon._

_“You really_ are _magic, George. I promise.”_

  
  


Perhaps, in some odd way, nine-year-old Dream had predicted all of the W.A.P. nonsense years before it began.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, George,” Sapnap whispered for the millionth time in the library.

George, who was sat across the table from the Gryffindor, ignored the second-year in favor of completing another exercise from his Transfiguration textbook.

A few seconds passed before Sapnap whispered to him again.

“George.”

Dream nudged George with his elbow and shot the Ravenclaw a pleading look.

“Just answer him, Gogi. He won’t shut up if you don’t.”

“Yeah,” Sapnap said smugly. “I can keep doing this all day. Oh, _Ge-oooorge..._ Gog _iiiiii_ ! Georgie- _pooooo_ —”

“ _What?”_ George finally snapped.

“Woah, dude, chill,” Sapnap said, raising his hands. George resisted the urge to punch the younger boy in the face and gritted his teeth.

“What do you want?” he grumbled.

Sapnap waggled his eyebrows mischievously and George groaned.

“Minx is staring at you again,” the Gryffindor whispered conspiratorially. “Don’t look now, though.”

George immediately turned around and met the intimidating stare of the Slytherin girl sitting a few tables over. Upon meeting his gaze, Minx quickly glanced back down at her textbook.

“You _moron_ , I said don’t look now!” Sapnap hissed, smacking the back of George’s head. George winced and shot the second-year a glare.

“What’s _wrong_ with you?” George whispered angrily.

“You gotta act _cool_ , dude. Girls like it when you play hard to get.”

Dream raised his eyebrow at the conversation and set his quill down on the table.

“Sapnap, what the heck are you talking about?” the Slytherin boy asked exasperatedly.

Sapnap smirked. “Uh, Minx _obviously_ has the hots for Georgie.”

“So?”

“ _So?_ So we gotta be his wingmen, dude!”

Dream pursed his lips at that and glanced at George. The Ravenclaw boy was staring resolutely down at his notebook.

“...George? Any thoughts?” Dream prodded, nudging his friend’s shoulder.

George gave Dream a pleading look and shrugged helplessly. “I...dunno?” he offered.

Sapnap rolled his eyes and leaned forward in his seat. “C’mon, man, we’re your friends. If you like her, you should go for it! We’ll help you! Right, Dream?”

Dream shrugged and fiddled with the quill in his hand. George suddenly felt the overwhelming need to end the conversation.

“Look, Sapnap, can’t this wait? Dream and I have an important assignment to finish, and—”

“George, just answer this: do you think she’s cute?”

George felt his cheeks heat up at Sapnap’s question. He glanced at Dream in the hopes that his friend would help him get out of it, but much to George’s frustration the Slytherin boy’s eyes stayed trained on his parchment.

Eventually, George just shrugged. “Uh...she’s fine? I guess? She’s kind of scary and sometimes I think she wants to kill me.”

Sapnap sighed. “ _George_. That doesn’t answer the question.”

George gulped and chanced another look at the Slytherin girl behind him. To his surprise, Minx was staring again. She hurriedly averted her eyes when she noticed George turn around, in favor of casually turning a textbook page and idly playing with a strand of her dark hair.

George furrowed his eyebrows in concentration, thinking hard.

 _Did_ he find her cute?

He contemplated her from afar. She wasn’t bad-looking, he supposed. She had pretty blue eyes and a small upturned button nose that made her look a bit like a doll, which was...alright.

He’d never really stopped to consider girls before. He was fourteen, and while some of the other students in his year were “dating,” George just didn’t see the point in shallow teenage relationships. He was far too busy with school to worry about girls.

There was also another confusing detail George couldn’t figure out, for even though Dream _and_ Sapnap both seemed to be convinced that Minx fancied him, the concept made zero sense. Of all the boys in the castle, why would Minx pick _George_ to fancy?

He wasn’t very handsome. His voice was in that awkward phase where it cracked on every other word. He wasn’t even tall; Minx was _taller_ than him, and he’d heard that height was supposedly very important to girls.

No, it didn’t make sense at all, and George’s Ravenclaw brain was frustrated by the puzzle that Minx presented.

“Hey! Earth to George! Quit ogling the lady and answer my question, already!” Sapnap whined.

George quickly tore his eyes away from the girl and bit his bottom lip.

“Um...yeah, she’s cute,” he finally conceded, hoping the answer would be enough for Sapnap to drop the topic of conversation.

Beside George, Dream inhaled sharply.

“You think _Minx_ is cute?” he asked in a disbelieving whisper. “The Minx who hexes you every other day and injects swear words into every sentence? _That_ Minx?”

George shrugged, shrinking back into his seat at Dream’s slightly confrontational tone. “Well, maybe when you put it _that_ way…”

“Oh, zip it, Dream,” Sapnap said with an eye roll. “The man can like whoever he likes. Plus, Minx is kinda pretty. I ship it.”

“You ‘ship’ it?” Dream repeated questioningly.

“Yeah, dude. Like, I can picture them together. Oh!” Sapnap exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. “We gotta think of a ship name for them if they’re gonna be a couple! Morge. Or Geor-inx? George-inx…”

Dream abruptly stood up from their table and placed a hand on George’s shoulder. When George looked up at the Slytherin, he saw that Dream was scowling.

“C’mon, George,” he grumbled, moving to pick up his study materials. “Why don’t you sneak me into the Ravenclaw common room or something? This place is too distracting to get anything done.”

Sapnap pouted. “ _Dream_ , c’mon, don’t go. Since when do you care about studying anyway?”

“Since I started getting a ton of homework, you dipshit. I wouldn’t expect a second-year like you to understand.”

Once he’d finished gathering his things, George followed Dream out of the library, ignoring Sapnap’s pleas for them to stay. As soon as the two third-years were out in the corridor, Dream’s demeanor shifted. His shoulders immediately untensed and his expression smoothed out, making George wonder what had caused the Slytherin’s bad mood in the first place.

They were silent as they walked to Ravenclaw Tower together, speaking only to answer the knocker’s riddle before stepping inside the common room. It was a testament to how close the two boys were that none of the other Ravenclaws even batted an eye at the Slytherin in their midst.

Twenty minutes into their studying, Dream cleared his throat and looked up from his parchment. George was surprised to see that the other boy looked somewhat nervous.

“Uh…” Dream started, seemingly mulling over what to say. “I, uh, I was...uh…”

“What is it, Dream?” George asked in what he hoped was a reassuring voice.

“I was, um, just wondering if... _doyoureallylikeMinx?_ ”

“What?”

Dream sighed and averted his eyes. “Do you really like her? Minx, I mean.”

 _Oh. This again,_ George realized.

Not particularly eager to reopen that can of worms, George just shrugged.

“She’s alright. I don’t think I _fancy_ her, though, if that’s what you’re asking.”

At George’s words, Dream looked oddly...relieved.

“Oh,” he breathed out. “Would you, you know, tell me? If you _did_ like anyone?”

George smiled and shook his head fondly.

“You’re ridiculous, Dream. Of course I’d tell you. Now, could you tell me your answer for the third question?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


Winter crept up on the students of Hogwarts, blanketing the castle grounds in sheets of Scottish snow and bringing with it the promise of stressful examinations at the end of the term.

George, for one, couldn’t wait for the term to be over. Although he loved his classes, he hated how he couldn’t go one day without discussing politics.

“What year was Bridget Wenlock’s theorem officially published?” George quizzed Dream a few days before their Arithmancy exam.

Dream groaned as he struggled to remember the date. “Um...the one about the magical properties of the number seven?” he asked, stalling.

“ _Um_ , yes. It’s only the most important theorem in modern Arithmancy. Now tell me the date!”

“Uh...twelve-twelve.”

“ _No_ , Dream. The answer is twelve-seventy-seven. The year _literally_ has two sevens in it.”

“I don’t _wanna_ study anymore, George,” Dream whined, throwing his quill down on the library table. “Let’s talk about something else. Got any plans for the holidays?”

George groaned and buried his face in his hands. “You’re impossible. Why do I even bother trying to help you?”

“Cuz you love me.”

“I do _not._ ”

“Hey, lovebirds, quit arguing and take a look at this,” Sapnap said as he slid smoothly into a seat at their table with what looked like a newspaper in his hands.

“What is it with everyone and reading _newspapers_ ?” Dream asked. “Are you _actually_ subscribed to the _Daily Prophet_? I didn’t take you for the reading type, Sapnap.”

“Shut up, it’s Karl’s,” Sapnap grumbled, pointing to something on the newspaper’s front cover. “Check this out, guys! We should totally do it!”

George leaned forward in his seat to read the headline. As his eyes scanned the words, his heart sank.

 _W.A.P. ANNOUNCES 7 NEW BLOOD DONATION STATIONS ACROSS GREAT BRITAIN,_ the header read.

When George next spoke, his voice sounded detached to his own ears.

“Y-you want to donate blood, Sapnap?” he asked, voice squeaking at the end of the question.

Sapnap nodded eagerly, prompting Dream to snort.

“Oh, come on,” the Slytherin said, “Sapnap isn’t selfless enough to wanna donate blood just _cuz._ What’s the real reason, man?”

Sapnap huffed indignantly. “You think I have some ulterior motive? Can’t I just be a good guy looking to help a few Squibs?”

George was growing more and more uncomfortable by the second, but his friends didn’t seem to notice as they carried on their conversation.

“Let me see the article,” Dream demanded, pulling the paper closer to himself and squinting to read the fine print. He took a few moments to skim the text before rolling his eyes and passing the paper back.

“What does it say?” George asked anxiously.

“He’s not an altruist,” Dream replied. “He just wants to win some free Quidditch World Cup tickets.”

Before George could say anything else, Sapnap groaned and crossed his arms.

“Okay, _okay_ , you got me. But c’mon, dude! It’s _four V.I.P. tickets._ Those cost a fortune!”

“Sapnap, you realize your chances of actually winning those tickets are, like, one in seven-point-five-trillion, right? Each blood donation is just _one_ lottery entry,” Dream said.

“That’s not zero, though!” Sapnap shot back. “Plus, it’s free to donate. One of the places is just over in Hogsmeade, so what do we have to lose? Karl and Bad and Skeppy are all going to do it. We could, like, make a pact where if one of us wins, we have to take the other people to the game with us.”

George bit his lip and wondered what he could possibly say to dissuade his friend from donating. Luckily, Dream beat him to it.

“Don’t waste your time,” the blond said. “My dad was planning on buying tickets anyway. I’ll just ask him to bring you along.”

“But those aren’t _free!_ ” Sapnap whined.

“Tickets are tickets, dude. Plus, you and Skeppy are only second-years. You don’t even _get_ to go to Hogsmeade yet, so how would you get to the facility?”

Sapnap smiled mischievously. “We have our ways.”

George adjusted his glasses nervously and cleared his throat. “I agree with Dream. What’s the point of having rich friends if you don’t let them buy you expensive things, anyway?”

“ _Hey,_ ” Dream said. “Are you just using me for my money, Gogi?”

“Oh, be quiet,” George huffed.

Sapnap grinned. “Wait, that makes Dream a sugar da—”

“ _Hey!_ Quiet down, you muffin!” Bad stage-whispered, walking up to Sapnap and clamping a hand over the younger boy’s mouth. “This is a _library_. Can’t you see they’re studying? I know for a fact that you have a Transfiguration essay due because Skeppy was— _ACK!_ Did you just _lick_ me?!”

Sapnap took that opportunity to snatch up his borrowed newspaper and sprint out of the library, leaving an annoyed Bad to chase after him. George watched their figures retreat with mixed feelings swirling in his gut.

“You good?” Dream asked once the other boys were gone.

“What? Oh, yeah,” George answered, swallowing his anxiety and forcing himself to reopen his Arithmancy textbook. “Now, where were we?”

  
  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


George’s winter break was terrible.

He knew that year’s holiday season would not be a fun one the second he stepped off the Hogwarts Express. His mother’s smile looked strained when she greeted him at the train station.

“Hello, Georgie,” she said, her usual excitement at seeing her son missing.

George immediately sensed something was off. “What’s wrong?” he asked nervously. “Where’s Dad?”

“Your father’s a bit busy right now, Love. He’s with your nan at the hospital,” she explained, ushering her son out to the car park.

“The hospital?” George repeated. “Is Nana alright? You didn’t mention anything about the hospital in your last letter.”

George’s mum smiled weakly, but it looked more like a grimace. “Georgie...Nana’s eighty-six years old. When she gets sick, it takes her much longer to recover, and now that she’s been diagnosed with pneumonia…” her voice trailed off, the unspoken meaning behind her words clear.

George stopped in his tracks to gaze at his mum with newfound realization. “She’s going to die,” he stated.

His mother’s eyes widened at his bluntness. “What? N-no, Georgie, that’s not what—”

“That’s exactly what you meant, Mum. Dad’s at the hospital with Nana because she’s going to die.”

George knew his words sounded insensitive even before his mum’s expression morphed into one of anger.

“ _George._ Have some tact!” his mum snapped. “Your grandmother is in poor health and your father is distraught. The doctors have been taking good care of her, but no one knows how much time she has left. I will not have you upsetting everyone further with your callous comments!”

George flinched. His mum rarely used her angry voice with him.

“Sorry,” George mumbled as he placed his luggage into the trunk of the car.

His mum sighed and made her way to the driver’s seat. “Just...things have been difficult lately, George. On your father especially. You don’t—” her voice broke off and she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“It’s okay, Mum. I understand.”

“No, you don’t, but it isn’t your fault. We know how much your school means to you and we didn’t want you to worry, but I should probably tell you before we get home,” she said, voice serious.

George sat still in his seat, dread pooling in his stomach.

“Your father’s out of a job,” Mrs. Davidson eventually said with a sigh.

George blinked several times as he processed the words.

“Dad’s been sacked?”

“No, he hasn’t been _sacked._ He’s been...laid off.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“It’s different.”

“Are we poor now or something?”

George’s mum went silent.

“...Mum?”

“We’re going to have to make a few lifestyle changes, and I want you to be prepared.”

As his mother recounted all of the various adjustments their family would have to make to make ends meet, George selfishly wished he'd stayed at Hogwarts.

  
  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


“What do you mean you can’t hang out?” Dream asked incredulously two days into their break.

George shrugged and kicked a chunk of snow with the toe of his boot.

“I’m busy,” was all he said. Evidently, the answer didn’t satisfy his best friend.

“Busy with _what_? It’s almost Christmas! We always hang out before Christmas.”

“I…” George debated what to say next. “I have a job.”

Dream spluttered and crossed his arms. “A _job_? You’re fourteen.”

“So?” George retorted, cheeks warming. “My mum’s friend needs a babysitter. I’m going to be looking after a few children several times a week.”

“Can’t they get anyone else to do it?” Dream whined.

“What? Why? It doesn’t even matter, Dream, I’ll still be able to spend time with you.”

“Yeah, but not _enough_ time!”

“It’s not like _you_ are always available to spend time with me. You’re in Wales half the time, anyway, so why do you care?”

“You _know_ I’m always back in the afternoon! Tell the woman you can only babysit in the mornings or something.”

George scowled. “That’s not how it works, Dream, and you know it.”

“I just don’t get it!” Dream cried, throwing his hands in the air. “You’ve never wanted to get a job before, so why _now?_ Why do you have to do this before Christmas, of all times? I was really looking forward to—”

“Because I _need_ the money, Dream!”

Dream stared at George with wide eyes. George didn’t often shout at him, so it never failed to shut the Slytherin up when he did.

“I-I’m sorry,” George stammered, deflating. “It’s just that…”

Dream’s eyes were concerned as they looked into George’s own. “What’s going on, George?” he asked softly.

George swallowed and averted his eyes. “My dad lost his job.”

Dream furrowed his eyebrows. “He did?”

“Yeah. In October, apparently. My parents didn’t tell me because they didn’t want me to worry.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” George repeated. “And it’s not like he can just go out and get another one because he’s in his fifties and he spends all of his time with my nan.”

Dream reached out and put a hand on George’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That must suck.”

“Yeah,” George shrugged. “It does.”

A few moments passed in silence, neither boy really knowing what to say.

“Well, anyway,” George finally said, clearing his throat, “I guess I should—”

He was abruptly cut off when Dream pulled him into a hug.

It took George a few moments to react, but he eventually recovered from the shock enough to shakily wrap his arms around Dream’s torso and bury his face in the other boy’s jumper. It was warm and smelled like floral laundry detergent.

“Thanks,” George whispered.

“Anytime,” came Dream’s reply.

And, for what had to be the millionth time in his life, George was incredibly thankful for his best friend. Because, in spite of his denseness and attitude and tendency to be incredibly annoying at times, Dream always knew just what to do and say to make George feel better.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


Dream tried to give George five galleons for Christmas. George handed the money back only to find the gold coins in his coat pocket when he returned home.

George decided to convert the currency and give the money to his mum. He told her that he found it outside on the street.

Her smile as she took the notes from him was brighter than anything George had seen in a while.

_Thank you, Dream._

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His nan died on New Year’s Eve.

George was there when it happened. He stood by her bedside together with his father in the dimly lit hospital room while the world outside celebrated the coming of the new year with fireworks and champagne.

It felt cruel to have to watch someone die on an evening so full of life.

All in all, George found death to be quite anticlimactic.

There were no horrific gasps for air, no gruesome sights, no screams of agony. Only the gentle flatlining of the heart monitor and the soft whisper of his grandmother’s final breath.

His mother arrived several minutes too late. When she burst through the door, she immediately rushed to hug his father.

His father was crying, George realized. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his father cry.

 _Eighty-six years old. A good, long life,_ his mum had said to his dad. The words were meant to be comforting, but they only made George feel angry at the injustice of it all.

Wizards lived to be hundreds of years old. Dumbledore had lived to one hundred sixteen. His predecessor had died at age three hundred fifty-five. God, even the _Trolley Witch_ from the Hogwarts Express was nearing her two hundredth birthday.

Wizards didn’t die of natural causes at the age of eighty-six. Eighty-six was considered _young_ to many magical people.

As his dad’s form shook with silent sobs, George wondered.

For all that he hated wizard supremacy and the misguided views that magical people held towards Muggles, a part of George wondered if Dream was right when he said that the W.A.P.’s research could help give magic to everyone.

If magic could give him a hundred more years with his Muggle parents, who was he to oppose its distribution?

He watched the fireworks in the reflection of his grandmother’s glassy eyes until he was ushered out of the room.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


The end of winter break could not have come soon enough for George.

Things had been gloomy in the Davidson home after his nan passed away. His dad spent the first days of January either staring at the wall or crying silently to himself, which George found terribly unnerving.

Crying wasn’t something fathers were supposed to do. Fathers were supposed to be the strong ones.

When the first day of his second semester arrived, George was more than ready to leave.

The ride to the train station was tense. His mum tried to make conversation on the way there, but each of her attempts only lapsed into awkward silence.

On the platform, George was offered two stiff hugs.

“Take care, Georgie,” his mum murmured. “Remember to write.”

“I will, Mum.”

“Goodbye, George,” said his dad.

With that, his parents turned around and made their way back to the car, leaving George alone on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Thankfully, he wasn’t alone for long. He soon spotted the familiar figures of his roommates all huddled together on the other side of the platform, laughing and joking about something undoubtedly more fun than anything George had done over break. Putting on his best neutral smile, George lugged his trunk over to where his friends were standing.

Wilbur spotted him first.

“George!” he exclaimed happily, beckoning him closer. “It’s good to see you, mate!”

Eret and Techno soon turned around and echoed similar sentiments, and George’s forced smile soon transformed into a genuine one.

“Hey, guys,” George greeted them warmly.

Wilbur slung an arm over George’s shoulder and sighed. "Ah, sometimes these breaks just never seem to end, do they?" he remarked.

"Tell me about it," George nodded.

"You know what? I _will_! I was just about to tell Eret all about it, as a matter of fact!"

"Here we go again," Techno muttered.

Wilbur let go of George and shot Techno a glare. "Oi, quit pretending like you weren't complaining about him, too!” he said before turning back to George. “Gogi, you would _not_ believe this neighbor of mine. I never thought I would ever have such a violent reaction to the sight of a child.”

Eret perked up at this. "Oh, that guy that moved in across the street from you?” he asked with a tilt of his head. “What was his name again?"

" _Tommy_ ,” Wilbur said through gritted teeth. “ _Apparently_ the child is afraid of owls. Who would have guessed? Because _I_ sure didn't know!"

George and Eret shared an amused look while Techno snickered and raised his hand. "I did, though," he said.

"I know _you_ did, you arse! _You're_ the reason I got in trouble!” Wilbur cried, kicking Techno in the shin. "I can’t believe you trained the bloody bird to attack blonds!"

George’s draw dropped. “Techno did _what?”_

“Didn’t you hear me?” Wilbur huffed. “He taught my owl to attack blond people, and nobody believed me when I told them that!”

Techno chuckled. "Listen, Wil, it was Godric Gryffindor who once said: 'If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat.' Clearly, the problem here was that you knew yourself, but not the enemy."

Wilbur scoffed at the bizarre monologue. "How the _fuck_ was I supposed to know that Tommy was afraid of owls?"

"Well I wasn't _born_ with that knowledge, I just asked 'im," Techno shrugged.

"Oh, really,” Wilbur scoffed, “what, did you just go up to him and him what his greatest fear was?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Oh, and then he said something like ‘Well, Big Man Technoblade, I just start pissing myself as soon as I see an owl.’ Is that right?” Wilbur asked rhetorically, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Techno just nodded solemnly. "Word for word, Wil. Word for word."

Wilbur huffed, massaging the bridge of his nose. "You know, you could have at least used your _own_ owl to attack the child."

"Yeah, I probably coulda," Techno shrugged, a sly smirk creeping onto his face. "But you see, _my_ owl was busy fetchin’ me packages from Weasley ‘n Weasley."

George's eyes widened. One didn't have to be a Ravenclaw to know that Techno purchasing prank items was seldom a good sign.

"So _that's_ how you got your hands on those potions!" Wilbur exclaimed.

"What potions?" Eret asked, voicing George's thoughts.

Techno cleared his throat. "Well, if you recall our trip to Hogsmeade, you’ll remember that one of our friends landed 'imself in the Hospital Wing after consumin’ a… very interestin’ potion."

George groaned at the memory he’d never be able to forget. He'd been terrified for Dream's life that entire day.

"Well, I was just thinkin’ about it one day— cuz that was absolutely hilarious, I mean, imagine havin’ allergies! What a nerd, just grow up, man! — but anyways, I remembered the _intended_ purpose of the potion, and...let's just say I wanted to go a _head_ and see if I could use it on Tommy."

"Y-you made a Muggle drink a potion?!" Eret stuttered. "That's dangerous, mate!"

Techno gave Eret an incredulous look. "What?” he said, “no! I wasn't tryna drug the guy! I used the Missin’ Body Mixture on myself and had Wilbur pretend to be my detached body."

George shook his head in disbelief as Wilbur threw his head back in laughter.

"It was bloody brilliant!” the curly haired boy exclaimed. “I'd listen to my mum shout at me a thousand more times if it meant I got to see that little shit’s terrified face again!"

"What did this child even do that you two have it out for him?" George asked, unable to suppress a smile.

Wilbur wrapped the arm around George's shoulder tightly once more and gave the shorter boy a friendly squeeze. "Oh, Gogi, just wait until you meet Tommy. You’ll understand."

Techno nodded. "Yeah. Let's just say that most people find him _really_ annoyin’ when they first meet him, and we were no exception."

"I see…" George trailed off.

"Oh, don't feel too bad for him,” Wilbur said, “that little bugger deserved it. Can you guess what he did afterwards?”

“Er...cry?” George guessed.

“He brought his little friend over to my yard and they both drew penises all over my fence with chalk!"

George snickered at the idea while Eret raised an eyebrow.

"I think… there's a bit of a difference between drawing dicks and traumatizing a poor Muggle child into thinking you've been beheaded," Eret remarked.

"That's not all he did, though!" Wilbur insisted. "He lied to my mum and said that I pushed him, so then she gave him _my_ cookies! As if that wasn’t enough, the child also stole one of my robes and then made me chase him down the entire street to get it back! Then he called my favorite pen _rubbish!_ "

George grimaced at the mention of the pen. Anyone who insulted Wilbur’s pens was lucky to be alive.

"Wait, you have a favorite pen?" Techno asked. “Isn’t that like havin’ a favorite child?”

"Of course, I love all of my pens. But the first one you gave me holds a special place in my heart," Wilbur grinned, removing his arm from around George's shoulder to pat his robe pockets. "I always keep it on me for good luck.”

Their conversation was put on pause when Dream and Schlatt walked up to their group, spurring another round of greetings. After several moments, the train blared its horn in warning, signalling for the students to board.

“Hey,” Dream murmured in George’s ear as the boys piled onto the Hogwarts Express. George shot his friend a soft smile in response.

“Hey yourself,” he said back.

“I missed you.”

George’s heart stuttered at the words and he felt a sudden urge to wrap his best friend in a hug. Instead, he stowed his trunk away and took his favorite seat by the window, waiting for Dream to slide in next to him before fondly bumping the blond with his elbow.

“I missed you, too,” George said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to hang out much over break.”

“It’s okay. _I_ should be the one apologizing,” Dream replied. “I wanted to say sorry for acting like a spoiled brat about your babysitting gig. I was just bummed ‘cuz I wanted you all to myself, I guess.”

George could feel his cheeks start to warm. Averting his eyes, he reached into his backpack and pulled out a deck of Muggle playing cards.

“Well,” he said, “we have the whole train ride to catch up now, and I wanted to teach you a new card game I learned over break. Would you like to shuffle?”

As Dream grinned and snatched the cards from George’s hands, George couldn’t help but sigh contentedly. Eight-odd hour train rides weren’t so bad when one was with friends.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  
  


A fresh layer of snow covered the quaint little houses in Hogsmeade, transforming the village into a scene from a Christmas picture book.

As he followed the other students and staff to the castle, George couldn’t resist tilting his face to the sky and catching a few falling snowflakes on his tongue. He closed his eyes as the little white flakes landed on his eyelids and melted one by one, creating the illusion of tears streaming down his cheeks.

He opened his eyes when he heard the unmistakable click of a digital camera and quickly turned his head to find Dream hurriedly tucking one back into his robe pocket.

“Did you just photograph me?” George asked his guilty-looking friend.

“Maybe.”

“Why would you—”

He was cut off by a snowball hitting him squarely in the face, causing him to splutter and frantically search for the culprit.

“ _Oi,_ George!” called out a familiar Irish voice from a little ways ahead.

“M-Minx?!” George exclaimed, “you can’t just throw snowballs at people’s faces! That could have _blinded_ me, you absolute—”

 _Splat._ Another snowball smacked him in the face.

“Oh, that’s it,” George muttered, scooping up a handful of snow and setting his sights on the Slytherin girl in front of him. Without any further warning, George sprinted up ahead and chased a giggling Minx up the path, eventually managing to reach out and shove his snowball down the back of her robes.

“YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” Minx screamed. When she turned around, her expression was one of unmasked rage.

“Er…” George stuttered, throwing his hands up in surrender and taking several steps back. “S-sorry, um, I didn’t mean to...well, you _were_ the one who started it, and…”

“I’m giving ye three seconds to run.”

“What?”

“ _One._ ”

“Minx, we’re almost to the castle already. Maybe we can just—”

 _“Two,_ ” she continued menacingly. George swallowed nervously and turned on his heels.

He only made it about ten steps before Minx finished counting and tore off after him, screaming bloody murder.

“ _HELP!”_ George yelled as he sprinted through the snow.

“Run, Gogi!” Wilbur shouted unhelpfully as he passed. He could hear Minx gaining ground, her longer legs propelling her swiftly through the snow drifts until George could practically _feel_ her breathing down his neck.

“I GOT YOU!” she screamed into his ear, tackling George into the snow.

He fell flat on his face, barely having the time to break his fall with his hands before Minx was straddling his back and pinning his arms to the ground.

“P-please, Minx, I’m sorry!” George cried, spitting mouthfuls of snow out of his mouth and struggling under the girl’s weight. Minx merely laughed and leaned in closer to George’s ear.

“I _win_ , Georgie!” she cackled, tightening her grip on his arms. “Admit that I won.”

For some reason, George didn’t feel like giving into the Slytherin girl that easily.

“You’re insane,” he huffed instead.

“Nuh-uh, George! Say that I won!”

“No.”

“Admit it or I’ll shove more fuckin’ snow in your fuckin’ face!”

“You’re a raving lunatic!”

“And you’re a pussy!”

Minx suddenly shifted her weight to adjust her grip, giving George the perfect opportunity to kick out his legs and push her back into the snow. Knocked off-balance, she yelped as her back hit the white ground.

“Ha!” George exclaimed triumphantly once their positions were reversed. He was quick to pin her arms above her head and childishly blow a raspberry in her face. “Looks like _I_ won, Minx.”

To George’s surprise, Minx didn’t say a word in reply. They both stared at each other as the snowflakes swirled around them, breaths coming out in puffs of smoke.

Suddenly embarrassed by their proximity, George averted his eyes and made to remove his hands.

“S-sorry,” he stammered, blushing. “I’ll just, um…”

Then the strangest thing happened. Minx _smiled_.

“George,” she said, “I—”

“ _GEORGE!”_ someone screamed behind them. In seconds, a pair of arms wrapped around his torso and lifted him to his feet, causing him to stumble a bit before righting himself.

“Dream,” George said, shaking the snowflakes from his hair.

“What are you _doing?!”_ the blond yelled at the girl in the snow. “Did you hex him or something?”

Minx’s previously neutral expression morphed into her usual scowl.

“Relax,” she spat, pushing herself to her feet. “I didn’t jinx your fuckin’ boyfriend.”

Dream crossed his arms defensively and spun around to face George, his eyes scanning the shorter boy’s form.

“Are you good? Are you hurt? Are you bleeding anywhere?” he interrogated him as George brushed the snow from his robes.

“I’m _fine_ , Dream,” George huffed, brain still trying to process what had just happened. Ignoring his best friend for a moment, the Ravenclaw boy sprinted after Minx’s retreating form.

“Wait, Minx,” George called out, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“ _What,_ ” she demanded, turning around to face him.

“You-you’re, well, um…” George stammered, pulling out his wand and muttering a spell under his breath. A rush of hot air burst from his wand tip and dried the Slytherin girl’s wet robes in the blink of an eye.

When George looked up, Minx seemed surprised.

“Oh,” she said. “You...wow. Th-thanks, George.”

“No problem,” George replied cheerfully. “It’s the least I could do after winning.”

He didn’t even flinch when Minx responded by punching him in the shoulder.

The two of them caught up with the other Ravenclaw boys and quickly joined in their happy conversation. George didn’t look back as they approached the gates of the castle and stepped onto the Hogwarts grounds as a group.

If he _had_ looked back, he would have noticed Dream lagging behind and glaring daggers at the back of Minx’s head.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What. The. Hell.”

George looked up from where he sat in an armchair in the Ravenclaw common room and met the angry gaze of none other than Technoblade. The other third-year looked absolutely livid as he approached George.

“What is it?” George asked his roommate, closing the book in his lap.

In lieu of a response, Techno tossed a crumpled sheet of paper into George’s hands.

Sensing something off, George carefully uncrinkled the paper and held it up to the light while Techno silently seethed beside him.

“Is this...a flyer?” George asked as his eyes took in bright printed colors and bold font.

“Yep. Some _bastard_ hung it up on the notice board,” Techno grumbled.

The flyer in George’s hands was enchanted so that the pictures moved, much like a magical photograph. Underneath text that read _SAVE THE SQUIBS_ was an image of a crying little girl who looked to be no older than six years old. A white speech bubble was drawn close to her mouth, the words _I want to go to Hogwarts, too!_ printed within it in bright blue font. At the very bottom of the page were instructions on how to donate blood for magical research along with the W.A.P. logo.

George was speechless.

“Wh...what?” was all he managed to say in response to the flyer.

Techno muttered something under his breath and snatched the wrinkled paper out of George’s hands, withdrawing his wand from his pocket.

“ _Incendio,”_ he said, immediately setting the thing on fire.

George sat there for several moments, simply watching the paper slowly turn to ash. When the flyer was nothing more than charred dust, he cleared his throat and looked up at Techno with worried eyes.

“Do you think one of the staff members hung it up?” he asked nervously.

Techno shrugged and vanished the pile of ash with another muttered spell. “I don’t freakin’ know, but I’m _really_ not likin’ this. It’s straight up propaganda.”

George nodded and bit his lip, his mind racing with questions. One in particular was at the forefront of his thoughts.

_Did Dream know anything about…?_

“Listen,” Techno said quietly, “we can’t let this slide. You and I both know that this W.A.P. stuff is utter pigshit. If you see any more of these papers around the castle, just take ‘em down and burn ‘em.”

With that, Techno turned around and marched up to the dormitories. George watched him leave with a mounting sense of dread.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you won't believe this, but according to AO3 statistics, only a _teeny tiny_ percentage of readers actually leave kudos and comments. You know the feeling when you try to leave extra kudos and AO3 has the audacity to tell you _no?_ I present to you a solution: COMMENTS! They're free! They're anonymous! They let us know you actually want us to keep writing! Woohoo!
> 
> In all seriousness, thank you to everyone who takes the time out of their day to leave comments. Reading them is an absolute joy. Even though sometimes I get too busy to respond I always read each and every one and I cherish them dearly <3 
> 
> See you next update! I start uni on the 20th so I'm not sure about the exact chapter date, but I can assure you that this fic will be my preferred method of procrastination!
> 
> my tumblr: kangarooken.tumblr.com  
> grass' tumblr: extragrassydetails.tumblr.com


	18. Chapter Eighteen || Year Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Students get ready for Valentine's Day at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely readers! Thank you for being so patient and sticking with this story! I present to you...another update! Enjoy!
> 
> Grass and I would like to give a very very very big thank you to naruhi on Tumblr who made some incredible fanart for this fic. I legit _squealed_ when I saw it. Please check it out here: https://naruhi16-art.tumblr.com/post/640668975769976832/its-called-like-magic-by-kangarooken

Report cards came out on the Friday after the end of winter break. As a result, the Ravenclaw table was bustling with activity as students ran around during lunch to compare their grades.

When George received his marks back for his end-of-term exams, he was overjoyed to discover that he’d achieved _Outstanding_ s in all subjects except for Defense Against the Dark Arts. His roommates had all scored extremely well on their assessments as well, much to their delight.

The Slytherins, on the other hand, weren’t all too eager to share their grades.

“What?!” Dream exclaimed upon seeing George’s marks. “How did you get an _O_ in _Arithmancy?!_ That test was so hard!”

George smirked and tucked his report card back into his pocket.

“I _told_ you,” he said, “if you actually _paid_ attention in class instead of doodling the whole time—”

“Never mind,” Dream cut him off with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t need another lecture. Let’s make fun of Schlatt and Minx, instead,” he suggested, gesturing towards his unamused Housemates. “They actually _failed_ Divination.”

This statement caught the attention of Wilbur, who perked up in his spot a few seats over.

“Schlatt, _really_?” he asked, looking genuinely surprised. “Even after I helped you with your crystal-gazing homework?”

George saw Schlatt and Minx share an amused look.

“Oh, yeah, you did ‘help’ us out, didn’t you, Wil? I forgot about that,” Schlatt remarked.

Wilbur turned to face the two Slytherins and gave Schlatt a look that said, _are you serious?_

“Schlatt, your memory is horrid,” the curly haired boy replied. “You and Minx begged me to lend you my essay and then spent a very long time studying it.”

Minx snickered while Schlatt nodded solemnly. “Oh, yeah. We _did_ spend a really long time studying that essay, didn’t we, Minx? You know, taking our own detailed notes and such.”

“Mhm,” Minx hummed in reply. “We took _very_ detailed notes. Totally didn’t use an enchanted Copy-Quill to duplicate it or anything.”

Wilbur crossed his arms and shook his head. “For two people who spend so much time studying my work, both of you are incredibly slow learners.”

Schlatt sighed exaggeratedly. “What can we say, Wil?” he asked with a shrug. “We don’t have those big blue Ravenclaw brains.”

“It’s not about being a Ravenclaw,” George said with an eye roll. “It’s about _effort_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Schlatt replied dismissively, “that’s what all o’ you big brains say.”

“What was your Ancient Runes score, George?” Minx asked with a tilt of her head.

George tried not to sound too proud as he replied, “I got an O.”

Minx sighed dramatically and glared down at her own paper. “I only got an _Acceptable_ ,” she confessed. “I’m rubbish.”

“I’m sure you’re not _that_ bad,” George said reassuringly. “Ancient Runes is all about memorization, anyway. All you have to do is spend a little more time in the library.”

Minx smiled at that and blinked her eyes at him thoughtfully. “Maybe...we could study together, sometime. In the library.”

Before George could answer her, Schlatt gave a loud guffaw and slapped his own leg dramatically.

“Pigs’ll fly before _you_ willingly spend time in the library, you fat cow!” he jeered. Minx responded by scowling and punching him in the stomach.

“You’re a fuckin’ piece of fuckin’ horse shit! I hope you fuckin’ die in a fuckin’ fire, you fuckin’ prick!” she screamed back at him.

While the two Slytherin friends yelled and bickered, George and Dream exchanged a look and mutually decided to sneak away from the table. The sound of Minx loudly cursing carried through the halls as they walked together to their next class.  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When George walked into the Great Hall for breakfast on the first day of February, he was appalled to discover that the whole place had been decorated a light gray color overnight.

The familiar blue banner above the Ravenclaw table now had pale gray streamers hanging off it. Upon stepping closer, George realized that the napkins were all emblazoned with little hearts.

“What’s all this rubbish?” he asked Wilbur as he sat down. His roommate looked up at him like he was stupid.

“Gogi, it’s February! The season of love has begun!” Wilbur replied, flicking an errant curl out of his eyes.

“Yeah, but…” George trailed off, eyeing the decorations distastefully. All of the goblets had been charmed gray. “Everything looks so _dead._ Why did they make all this stuff gray, anyway?”

Someone snorted behind him, and George turned around to see Dream taking his seat with a smile on his freckled face.

“What’s so funny?” the shorter boy asked with a frown. Dream merely pointed to the top of George’s head in response.

“I think that Gogi forgot to put his goggles on this morning,” the Slytherin said.

“My goggles? Wh—oh!” George hurriedly patted his hair and lowered his color correction glasses onto his face. Immediately, he gasped as what had to be at least fifty shades of gray suddenly transformed into an array of bright pink hues.

“It’s _pink!”_ George exclaimed, prompting the other boys at the table to snicker.

“Of course it’s pink, you idiot,” Dream laughed. “It’s _February._ They do this every year in the leadup to Valentine’s Day.”

George blushed and busied himself with spooning sugar into his bowl of oatmeal. “I’m colorblind, okay? You’re not allowed to make fun of me.”

“C’mon, even colorblind people know that pink is a February color.”

“Dream, colors do not have assigned months!” Eret chimed in from across the table. “That whole notion is a social construct. In fact, pink only became associated with love and such because the Ancient Romans believed that—”

Eret was abruptly cut off when an overeager Gryffindor boy slammed into the side of the table, knocking over several goblets in his rush to sit down.

“Sapnap! What the hell!” Eret exclaimed in annoyance. “I was in the middle of explaining the origins of—”

“Yeah, yeah, put the nerd stuff on pause for a moment,” Sapnap interrupted, turning to face George. “I need to talk to Georgie!”

George raised an eyebrow, wondering what on earth his friend could possibly have to say to him at half past seven in the morning.

“Uh...okay?” he said. “What’s up?”

Sapnap rolled his eyes. “I need to talk to you _in_ _private,”_ the Gryffindor amended.

George reluctantly rose from his seat and followed the second-year to the Gryffindor table, exchanging a questioning glance with Dream as he went. Sapnap wasted no time in getting to the point once the two were finally seated among the other red-robed students.

“We need to talk about Minx,” he said immediately, causing George to promptly choke on his own spit.

Once George was done spluttering, he shot Sapnap a glare.

“ _That_ is what you dragged me over here for?” he said disbelievingly.

“Well, yeah,” Sapnap shrugged. “It’s already February and you _still_ haven’t asked her out yet. I had to get you alone so I could ask you why the hell you’re stalling.”

“Wh—? Ask her— _Sapnap!_ Who said anything about asking anyone out?”

“Clearly _you_ haven’t, which is why we have to have this discussion.”

The two friends stared at each other for several moments before George looked away and groaned.

“Sapnap, I’m not going to ask Minx out,” he grumbled.

“Oh, yeah? Why not?” Sapnap challenged. “She _clearly_ likes you, dude.”

George buried his too-hot face in his hands. “Because I don’t fancy her!”

“ _Oooh, I don’t fancy her,_ ” Sapnap mocked in a horrible impression of George’s British accent. “She’s the only girl I’ve ever seen you talk to. Also, your birthdays are only two days apart. That’s, like, fate.”

“How is _that_ relevant at all?”

Sapnap grinned and pulled a wrinkled piece of paper out of his pocket, setting it on the table and pointing at what looked like a picture of a scorpion.

“What is that?” George asked, crossing his arms.

“It’s a page I tore out of Karl’s Divination textbook,” Sapnap reported.

“ _What?!_ You tore a page out of a _textbook_?”

“Just shut up and listen,” the second-year said hastily. “This is from the Astrology unit: ‘ _When two Scorpios make a love match, it is a fierce tempest of intense passion_ —’”

“Are you seriously bringing up horoscopes _?”_

“— _and the relationship formed can truly be the best thing in the world.’_ Now, doesn’t that sound great?” Sapnap grinned.

George facepalmed.

“You’re an idiot.”

“It’s in the _stars,_ George! You have to ask her out. Come on! I’ll help you!” the Gryffindor offered. “What do you have to lose?”

George paused and bit his lip.

He didn’t _think_ he fancied Minx. She was his friend, just like Schlatt and Eret and Wilbur were all his friends. The only different thing about her was that she was a girl.

According to Sapnap, though, her being a girl was very significant.

_Is that what dating is?_ he wondered. _Girl plus friend equals girlfriend?_

“Well,” George huffed, still blushing, “if Minx really _does_ fancy me, why hasn’t she said anything to me yet? Nothing’s stopping her from asking _me_ out, you know.”

Sapnap rolled his eyes in response. “You sound like Eret. Listen, George, you’re the _guy._ Guys are the ones who have to do the asking.”

“But that’s not fair!”

“Life’s not fair. Don’t be a chicken. There’s a pretty girl who likes you and wants to be your girlfriend, so you are going to ask her out on Valentine’s Day.”

And so George listened as Sapnap formulated a plan. Eventually, the bell rang, cutting the discussion short and forcing them both out of the Great Hall. As George stood up from the Gryffindor table, the last line of the wrinkled textbook paper caught his eye.

  
  


_A relationship between Scorpios could go either way: It will either be the most wonderful thing in the world or result in the destruction of both involved._

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was so much pink around the castle in the weeks leading up to Valentine’s Day that George started taking off his color correction goggles just to give his eyes an occasional break.

“What the _hell_ are those?” he exclaimed one day upon entering the library with Dream to see what appeared to be several winged naked babies flying above the tables.

Dream barely batted an eye. “Oh, those? Those are cherubs,” he supplied.

“Cherubs?”

“They’re pretty common around Valentine’s Day,” Dream said amusedly. “I guess the staff are trying out new decorations this year.”

George huffed and took his seat at their usual table in the back all while eyeing the flying entities with suspicion.

“Are they real babies?” he asked Dream skeptically, making the other boy laugh.

“Are they _real—_? Of course not, you idiot!” he snickered. “Real babies don’t have _wings._ ”

“You know what I meant!”

“They’re enchanted statues,” the Slytherin explained as he took his own seat across from George. “They can say basic sentences and throw flower petals at people, but that’s about it.”

As if on cue, one of the cherubs swooped down and unceremoniously flung a handful of rose petals at each of the boys’ heads.

“ _Love is in the air!”_ it exclaimed in a stupidly high pitched voice. “ _Rose petals for another happy Hogwarts couple!”_

George and Dream both spluttered and looked at the cherub with wide eyes.

“We’re not—”

“We aren’t—”

“ _Roses are red, violets are blue…”_ the cherub sang, flying off to the next table.

A few beats of awkward silence passed between them, only broken when Dream reached across the table and plucked something from George’s hair.

“What are you—? Oh,” George cut off once he saw a single red rose petal held pinched between two of Dream’s fingers.

Dream smirked and set it down on the table.

“You, uh, had a…” Dream trailed off, nodding at the flower petal, “in your…”

George laughed awkwardly. “Oh, ha. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Dream replied.

George bit his lip. Dream looked like he wanted to say something else, but the sound of Madame Pince shushing a table of older students snapped him out of it.

“So, uh, why did we come here again? To study?” the blond asked, reaching into his bag for his textbooks.

George’s shoulders untensed and he nodded in reply. “Yes. Ancient Runes homework.”

“Right. What page?”

They worked for several hours until they got tired of brushing flower petals off of their desk, at which point it was time for dinner. They left the library chatting and bantering as usual, all of the earlier cherub weirdness forgotten.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the morning of Valentine’s Day, George woke up to the sound of his roommate’s cackling.

“Wha’sat?” he mumbled sleepily, craning his neck up to see what all of the commotion was about.

He made a motion to get up but was stopped when Wilbur suddenly leapt across the room and dove under his covers, jostling his bed frame in the process.

“Gogi, save me!” Wilbur squealed, burying his lanky frame under the duvet. “Techno is going to kill me!”

George blinked the sleep out of his eyes and sat up in time to see the very roommate in question storm out of their bathroom with his fists balled at his side and smoke practically shooting out of his ears.

“So, ya think you’re funny or somethin?” Techno asked through gritted teeth, gesturing pointedly to the top of his head. “Y’think _this_ is funny?”

George felt Wilbur squirm beside him as he reached over to his bedside table and groggily put on his color correction glasses. The second the colors slid into focus, a gasp escaped from his lips as he took in the sight of Technoblade standing before him.

The mop of shaggy brown hair that his roommate previously sported was now dyed a pale, pastel pink.

“ _Well_? Don’t get cold feet now, Wil, ya gotta answer for your crimes!” Techno spat, stomping over to the obvious Wilbur-shaped lump under George’s sheets and dragging the shrieking boy out from underneath them.

“It wasn’t me!” Wilbur cried, clutching onto George’s bed frame as Techno attempted to throw him out of their open window.

“‘Who wishes to fight must first count the cost,’ Wilbur! You asked for this! You knew this would happen!”

“No!

“You did this to yourself!”

“Gogi, save me, please!” Wilbur pleaded, reaching out towards George with a desperate look on his face.

George took one look at Techno’s murderous face and decided that helping Wilbur was decidedly _not_ in his best interest if he wanted to stay alive.

“Erm, a-actually it looks like the bathroom’s free right now so…” he nodded his head in the direction of their shared bathroom and slowly started to back away from the other two boys.

“How could you abandon me in my moment of need?!”

“Die!” Technoblade yelled.

Suddenly, the door to the dorm room burst open.

“Would you lot quiet _down?!_ ” Philza yelled, taking one step into their room before freezing and taking note of the attempted murder taking place in front of him. “Techno, what the fuck are you doin?”

“He’s trying to kill me!” Wilbur wailed.

“Yeah, I can fuckin see that, but why?”

Techno narrowed his eyes at the seventh-year. “ _Why_ , Philza? _Why?!_ ” he repeated incredulously, releasing his grip on Wilbur and sending the curly haired boy crashing to the ground. “Do you not _see_ my _hair_?!”

Philza glanced up at the seething third-year’s head and shrugged. “Yeah, ‘s a good look on ya, didn’t really answer my question.”

“He did this to me!” Techno yelled, pointing an accusatory finger in Wilbur’s direction as the curly haired boy tried and failed to hide himself under George’s bed.

“And your solution was to wake up th’ whole Ravenclaw Tower with your screamin?” Phil sighed, punching the bridge of his nose. “C’mon, Techno, mate, you know better than that. ’Sides, didncha wanna dye your hair pink anyways?”

Something unreadable flashed across Techno’s face as he tore his eyes away from Wilbur to look at Philza. “I... _did_ mention it once….”

“See? So he was doin ya a favor!” Philza declared, clapping Techno on the shoulder. “You should be thankin im, not killin im, now go on n’—”

“I mentioned it _once_ , Phil,” Techno emphasized. “Do you know when that was?”

Philza furrowed his eyebrows. “Uh, no?”

“It was on the Hogwarts Express and only a few people were there in our compartment. I distinctly remember that you were _not_ one of those people. Do you know what else was mentioned there?”

“Somethin that’s gonna incriminate me further, I’m guessin?” Philza chuckled.

“Eret mentioned that the specific spell meant to achieve _this_ —” he tugged at his hair, “is only taught in the _sixth_ year!”

Phil grinned, inspecting Techno’s hair up close. “Oh yeah, it is, isn’t it? And that’s not a bad job, if I do say so myself. Definitely not somethin Wilbur could pull off.”

“Hey!” Wilbur called indignantly, quickly quieting down when Techno shot him a look.

“So, detective, have ya figured it out? Can I go back t’ sleep now?” Phil asked, a bemused expression on his face.

Techno glared at him for a second before tearing his eyes away and running a hand through his newly dyed hair. “Yeah…” he muttered.

“There we go,” the seventh-year squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. “‘And quit frownin like that, right? The color really _does_ look good.” Phil reached into his sleeve, then, and pulled out his wand. “But if it bothers ya _that_ bad, I’ll reverse it for ya. ‘S not funny if you’re just uncomfortable.”

Techno considered the suggestion for a moment before shaking his head. “Nah, if _you_ did it then it’s good. I actually kinda like it, it’s growin’ on me.”

Wilbur, deciding that he was finally safe from Techno’s fury, righted himself and scoffed. “Oh, but if _I_ did it, I’m deserving of death?”

“Well, yeah,” Techno shrugged. “Unlike _you_ , Philza can do no wrong.”

“When have I _ever_ wronged anyone, Techno?” Wilbur asked, crossing his arms.

“Do ya _really_ want me to answer that?” Techno asked with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve seen you come close to castin one of the unforgivables on a ten year old Muggle. You’ve wronged plenty o’ people.”

“Tommy doesn’t count!”

“Can you two stop bickering?” snapped an annoyed Eret from across the room. “I still have an hour before I have to join the waking world and I would appreciate it if you would just _shut up_ already.”

Techno and Wilbur both had the decency to mutter apologies under their breaths and take the rest of their argument downstairs. George settled back into bed and gazed idly out of his window. He knew he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep; not with the looming threat of Valentine’s Day hanging over his head.

Sapnap had assured him that the note explaining where and when to meet him had already been delivered to Minx. There was no going back now. As long as she wasn't immediately repulsed, offended, or bursting into laughter, then chances were he’d either only have a mildly bruised ego or a new girlfriend by the end of the day.

George didn’t know which prospective outcome scared him more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day seemed to drag on. George usually took pride in his flawless note taking abilities, so it was doubly frustrating that he couldn't seem to pay attention to any of his professors for long enough to jot down a single word in his notebooks.

Dream immediately noticed his unusually anxious demeanor. During their morning D.A.D.A. class he wouldn’t leave George alone, passing him notes and whispering questions in his ear every five minutes when Professor Travers wasn’t looking.

One such note landed on George’s desk twenty minutes before the end of the lesson. George made sure to wait until their professor had her back turned before opening it discreetly.

_just tell me wats wrong alredy,_ Dream’s messy misspelled chicken scratch read.

George scribbled his response on the other side of the note and hastily tossed it back to Dream.

_Nothing,_ was all the note said. Of course, the response didn’t satisfy Dream in the slightest.

“Stop lying,” the Slytherin whispered.

“I’m not.”

“You are. You’re making your lying face.”

“What the bloody hell is a lying face?”

Dream smirked and scribbled a crude drawing of a constipated-looking stick figure on another scrap of parchment. George rolled his eyes when his friend wrote the word _Gogi_ above the figure’s head.

“I do _not_ look like that,” George hissed.

“You do. Like this, see?” Dream replied, contorting his own freckled face into a pained expression. George couldn’t help but snort at his friend’s antics.

“Yes, Mr. Davidson? Do you have something you would like to share with the class?” Professor Travers suddenly called out, obviously annoyed by the disruption.

“No, Professor,” George murmured, trying his best to look apologetic. Thankfully, his teacher merely pursed her lips and turned back to the blackboard.

After a few minutes, Dream nudged George with his elbow.

“Seriously, though,” the blond whispered, “you know you can tell me anything.”

George smiled softly and gave his friend an almost imperceptible nod. He didn’t say anything else; no other words were needed. Dream squeezed his shoulder and left him alone for the rest of the class.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as evening began to approach, George felt his nerves kick into overdrive.

This was it. The moment everyone had been waiting for. And by everyone he meant his sudden overwhelming anxiety and Sapnap.

Every terrible possible scenario started racing through his mind, at least ten of which ended up with him either being thrown off of the Astronomy Tower or leaping off of it on his own. But the scenarios in which he just ditched Minx and never showed up? Those were infinitely worse.

Theoretically, the plan was simple.

George would meet up with Minx at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower staircase. Then, he’d take her to the very top of the building and present her with “literally the most romantic gift of all time,” according to the Gryffindor second-year.

And so, as everyone else began making their way to the Great Hall, George began heading in the opposite direction. Or, at least, he _would've_ headed in the opposite direction if it wasn’t for his overly concerned best friend.

"And where exactly are _you_ going?" Dream asked, slinging an arm over George's shoulder.

"Erm, um, to— well, it's dinner time, isn't it?"

"Yeah, and the Great Hall is _that_ way." Dream snickered, nodding his head in the direction that everyone else was walking in.

"O-oh is it?"

“Uh, _yeah._ You’re supposed to be the smart one here, George.”

George didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t just go with Dream to the Great Hall; the entire Minx plan hinged on him meeting her at the designated location.

“You’re being so _weird,”_ Dream groaned, tugging on the Ravenclaw’s arm and dragging him down the hall before George could think up a valid excuse.

When he arrived at the Ravenclaw table like usual, Sapnap shot him an incredulous look.

_What the fuck?_ the younger boy mouthed, pointing to their blond Slytherin friend. George shrugged helplessly and sat down next to Dream, wondering how on _earth_ he’d manage to remedy the situation.

A few minutes into the meal while Dream was talking to Technoblade, Sapnap leaned over and whispered something in George’s ear.

“I’m gonna create a distraction so you can sneak out,” he hissed.

“What _kind_ of—”

“Just watch and learn, George.”

Sapnap quickly excused himself from the Ravenclaw table and skipped out of sight, leaving George wondering what distraction could possibly be big enough to prevent Dream from noticing his absence. George and Dream _always_ sat next to each other during meals; it wasn’t like George could disappear without the Slytherin noticing.

Of course, George could just _tell_ Dream about the big Valentine’s Day plan. It wasn’t like Dream would refuse to give George a moment of space. He would probably understand.

_No._

The idea of telling Dream felt...wrong, somehow.

George chalked the feeling up to nerves and tried not to dwell on it for very long.

There was suddenly a loud crashing sound near the front of the Great Hall. Conversation immediately quieted as students craned their necks to see the cause of all the commotion. From his spot at the table, George could just barely make out the top of Sapnap’s bandana-encircled head standing directly in front of the High Table where all of the professors were seated.

_Oh no._

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the Gryffindor boy cried, his voice clearly under the effect of a sound-amplifying charm. “Happy Valentine’s Day to you all!”

“What the _hell_ is he doing?” Dream whispered into George’s ear.

“Something stupid,” George whispered back.

The Gryffindor table burst out in cheers as their second-year did a bow and then raised his hand to silence the crowd once more.

“I have an announcement to make!” Sapnap declared, pulling what looked like a large toy water gun out of his robe pocket and firing bursts of pink confetti into the air. “For two years, I have watched two of our favorite Hogwarts professors pine for each other every single day! Well, I’m here to put a stop to it! Hit it, Skeppy!”

Skeppy emerged from the crowd, a sizable Muggle boombox under his arm. The other Gryffindor grinned at Sapnap’s command and pressed a large button on the front with a flourish. Immediately, the famous first four notes of Marvin Gaye’s _Let’s Get It On_ rang out for everyone to hear.

“Professor Travers! Professor Borealis! The pining stops _now!”_ Sapnap exclaimed before bursting into song.

The professors sitting at the High Table looked scandalized. Dream stood up from his seat and tugged on George’s sleeve.

“This kid is an idiot!” he grinned. “C’mon, let’s get a little closer. I can barely see anything from here.”

Seizing the opportunity, George shook his head.

“You go on,” he said, “I think I’ll stay back. If I go any closer I might explode from secondhand embarrassment.”

Dream shrugged and soon disappeared into the gathering crowd. George waited until he was certain Dream wouldn’t see him before he slipped away and made a beeline for the exit.

“You can’t stop _love,_ Headmistress McGonagall! Love conquers all!” he heard Sapnap shout just as he finally entered the hallway.

_Thank you, Sapnap,_ he thought gratefully. _I owe you one. Or two. I owe you a lot._

Five minutes later, George found Minx sitting at the bottom of the staircase. She looked up at him as he approached, her gaze steely.

“You’re late,” she remarked.

“I’m sorry,” George apologized sheepishly. “Sapnap held me up.”

“Did he?”

“Yes. I’m serious. He’s performing a love song for two professors in the Great Hall right now.”

Minx’s eyebrows shot up into her forehead. “Is he _really?_ That eejit’s gonna land ‘imself in detention for _months._ ”

George nodded and shuffled his feet. “Yeah, that’s Sapnap,” he muttered. Then, with a glance up at Minx, he asked, “Are you ready?”

When Minx nodded, George immediately turned on his heel and began to take the stairs two at a time, stopping at the end of every flight to wait for Minx to catch up.

“Where are we going, George?” she asked, voice uncharacteristically soft.

George merely shrugged. “Thought you’d have figured it out by now, honestly.”

Minx finally made it up to the seventh floor landing and straightened up next to the Ravenclaw, eyes taking in the familiar paintings and suits of armor as she caught her breath.

“There’s nothing further up except for the Astronomy Tower,” she remarked.

George raised an eyebrow and waited for her to put together the puzzle pieces. It took her several seconds, but she soon swiveled her head towards him and gasped.

“Oh! We’re going to the Astronomy room!” she exclaimed.

George nodded and offered her a hand.

“About five more flights of stairs left,” he said with a challenging smile. “D’you think you can make it?”

Instead of accepting the proffered hand, Minx stuck her tongue out at him and sprinted up the stairs, letting out peals of laughter as she went.

“ _Minx!_ Wait for me!” he called out before giving chase.

“Fuckin’ catch me, George!”

Several minutes and countless profanities later, the two were finally standing outside the door to the Astronomy Classroom. They stood there for a few moments, catching their breaths, when Minx turned and looked at George expectantly.

“Are we going inside?” she asked, voice light and teasing.

Suddenly nervous again, George nodded and bit his lip.

“Um...ladies first,” he stammered, reaching out to open the door for the Slytherin girl. Minx chuckled and started to say something that sounded like another swear word before cutting off abruptly when her eyes registered the sight before her.

There were candles. _Lots_ of candles. Sapnap had insisted that when it came to winning girls over, the more candles one used, the better. Judging by Minx’s slack jawed expression, the Gryffindor boy hadn’t been wrong.

It was quite a beautiful sight, George realized. Sapnap had done an amazing job setting everything up. The room’s ceiling was domed and enchanted to look like the night sky; with candles lit all around them, the place looked like a scene from one of the Disney movies George used to watch as a child.

In the very center of the room, beneath the dome’s apex, was a single red rose tied to a sealed envelope.

Minx tentatively turned around to look at George again, an unspoken question in her blue eyes.

“Go on,” George urged, cheeks heating up.

Minx quickly skipped to the middle of the room, her movements fluid as she bent over to pick up the items. She wasted no time in violently tearing the envelope open and dumping its contents on a nearby desk.

George smiled, reminded of the way Dream always shredded impatiently through wrapping paper whenever George presented him with a gift.

_Focus, you idiot,_ his brain screamed at him. _She’s reading your note!_

George waited anxiously for her eyes to finish scanning the words he’d written in the common room the night before. He couldn’t remember exactly what the letter said; something along the lines of _I think you’re great_ and _please be my Valentine._ Sapnap had helped him with the writing bit.

Minx looked up from the letter and met George’s gaze. George was struck by the fact that, under the light of the starry Scottish sky, she looked kind of pretty.

“Do you mean it?” she whispered.

Not trusting himself to speak, George nodded.

Minx tucked the letter and rose away in her robe pocket. Then, before George could ask her what she thought of the whole thing, Minx ran up to him and tackled him in a bone-crushing hug.

“U-um,” George squeaked, struggling to breathe, “does this mean you liked the surprise?”

Minx laughed brightly into his shoulder and nodded her head against his robes.

“Of course I fuckin’ liked it, you eejit,” she assured him. “And of _course_ I’ll go out with you.”

It was already almost curfew by the time they’d haphazardly blown out all of the candles and cleaned up the shredded envelope mess. George walked Minx all the way down to her common room from the Astronomy Tower.

“Wow, George,” she said softly as they descended the many flights of stairs that led down into the dungeons. “I didn’t realize you were such a gentleman.”

“Me neither,” George replied, his face heating up. “I didn’t realize you were a lady.”

Minx threw her head back and cackled. “Remember when you called me a cow last year?” she asked.

George groaned at the memory. “Don’t remind me.”

“I was going to fuckin’ murder you!”

“I _know._ ”

“But look at us now,” she sighed. “I won’t lie to you, George, I started to think you were gay with how long it took you to notice that I liked you.”

George coughed in surprise, causing Minx to stop in her tracks and look at him curiously.

“I-I’m not _gay_ ,” he spluttered once he’d gotten past the shock of Minx’s words. “Wh...why would I be _gay?_ ”

Minx smirked. “Did ye just ask me _why_ you would be gay?” she teased. “I dunno, George, you tell me.”

George’s face felt like it was on fire. “You _know_ that’s not what I—”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Minx continued, “Selwyn isn’t exactly _ugly,_ if you know what I mean—”

“WHAT? I’m not _gay_ for Dream!”

Minx threw her hands up in mock surrender as they rounded the corner and stopped outside the door to the Slytherin common room.

“I’m teasing,” she giggled. “I’m glad you’re not gay for Dream. I like you too much.”

And George was, once again, rendered speechless. Minx didn’t seem to mind, however, as she said the password and gave him a final wave goodbye.

“See you tomorrow, George,” she said, and then she was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Even though George had _specifically_ requested that Sapnap kept the whole Minx plan on the downlow, all three of his roommates pounced on him the second he entered the Ravenclaw common room.

“What did she say?” Wilbur questioned.

Eret nodded. “George, you never mentioned anything about fancying Minx! We could have helped you!”

“ _I_ wouldn’t’ve helped you.”

“Shush, Techno!” Wilbur silenced with a hand over the pink haired boy’s mouth. “George, how did it go? How are you still _alive?”_

“Yes! Did she try to bite your head off?” Eret pressed.

George threw up his hands and pushed his way through his eager roommates without saying a word. They followed him all the way up the boys’ staircase and into their dorm room, where George finally turned around and faced them with his hands on his hips.

“Well?” Wilbur demanded.

George sighed, running a hand through his dark hair before answering.

“She said yes.”

Eret and Wilbur immediately began clapping and jumping around excitedly while Techno just shrugged and left to use the bathroom.

“How did you ask her, mate?”

“ _Where_ did you ask her?”

“What were her _exact_ words?’”

“Did you two kiss?”

George blanched at the question and immediately clapped his hands over his ears.

“Shut up! No, no, no kissing involved, please stop with the questions!” he pleaded, turning away to hide the blush on his face. He only let himself untense when he felt Wilbur place a hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry, George,” the curly haired boy said. “We’re just honestly happy for you. We knew Minx fancied you, but we didn’t think you fancied her back.”

“Yeah,” Eret added, “she even asked me if you were gay.”

George groaned at the comment. “What is with all of the _gay_? I’m not _gay!”_

Eret raised an eyebrow. “It’s not an insult, you know. She was just wondering. There’s nothing wrong with liking guys.”

Wilbur nodded earnestly. “Nothing whatsoever!”

“I might even be a little gay, to be honest.”

“Wait, really, Eret?” Wilbur asked.

“Yeah,” Eret shrugged. “But it’s weird, because I’m not, like, _gay_ gay. I still like girls.”

“There are different _levels_ of gay?” George asked incredulously.

Wilbur gasped, then, and looked Eret in the eye excitedly.

“I know!” he exclaimed, “you’re bisexual! Isn’t that what it’s called when you fancy both?”

“You know, that _does_ sound right, Wilbur!”

“Can you three go be gay somewhere _else?_ ” Techno said as he stepped out of the bathroom. “I have to wake up early tomorrow for quidditch, and you’re talkin’ pretty loudly.”

Wilbur and Eret apologized and took their conversation downstairs into the common room, leaving George to get ready for bed by himself. As he brushed his teeth, an anxiety-provoking thought occurred to him.

If Sapnap told his roommates, Dream probably knew about Minx, as well.

It was hard for George to get to sleep that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Being half of a Hogwarts couple was weird.

In spite of what the huge castle would have one think, Hogwarts wasn’t _that_ large of an institution. As a result, news spread like wildfire among the student body. George wasn’t used to having so many people suddenly asking him how his life was and attempting to make small talk in the halls. The sudden attention made him feel both flattered and uncomfortable.

But the sudden surge of popularity was an easy problem to handle in comparison to George’s other one. A problem which he hadn’t anticipated at all was Dream being mad at him.

George knew that something was wrong the second that he stepped into his first Potions lesson after Valentine’s Day. Dream, who had sat next to George in Potions every lesson without fail for three years in a row, was no longer seated in his usual spot in the back row, having instead opted for a seat at the front of the room.

When George’s eyes landed on Dream’s usual seat, he found a blue-eyed Slytherin girl staring up at him expectantly.

“Minx?” he said hesitantly as he set his things down on his desk.

Minx smiled brightly at him and gestured for him to hurry up and sit down.

“Dream agreed to swap seats with me, Georgie!” she exclaimed happily. “We can sit together in our classes, now!”

“Um…” George glanced at the aforementioned blond boy, who was speaking casually with Eret at the front of the room.

Minx, following his line of sight, huffed and crossed her arms.

“Aren’t you _pleased_ , George?” she questioned, sounding somewhat offended. “You get to sit with your _girlfriend_ , now. You should be fuckin’ ecstatic.”

George’s eyes widened and he nodded vigorously. “O-of course I’m pleased!” he stuttered. “I-This is brilliant, Minx.”

Minx raised an eyebrow. “If it’s too _soon_ for you, or whatever, I can fuckin’ move.”

“N-no! It’s fine. Really. I was just…” George trailed off and bit his lip, wondering how to phrase the next part of his sentence. “I was just nervous that Dream might be cross with me, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Minx said, shoulders untensing. “Don’t worry, Georgie, I wouldn’t have kicked the fucker out of his seat. Selwyn’s the one who offered to switch.”

_Dream was the one who offered?_ George’s brain thought, suddenly worried.

Out loud, he said, “Oh, perfect. That’s fine, then.”

He spent the rest of the lesson exchanging forced smiles with Minx and staring anxiously at the back of his best friend’s head. When the bell finally rang, George leapt out of his seat and immediately cornered Dream outside in the hallway.

“Dream,” he called out to his rapidly retreating friend, “wait.”

Thankfully, Dream turned around to face him. The blond’s face was a mask of cool indifference, an expression usually reserved only for obnoxious teachers and Selwyn Sr.

George gulped nervously. Dream raised an eyebrow.

“What?” the Slytherin said as if it were completely _normal_ for the two of them to go an entire lesson without exchanging a single word.

George forced his nerves down and stood up a little straighter. “Why didn’t you sit next to me?” he questioned. “We always sit together.”

Dream’s expression didn’t shift at all as he answered, “I was being polite.”

“How is sitting somewhere else _polite?_ ”

“I let you sit next to your _girlfriend_ , George. You should be thanking me.”

George flinched. The way Dream stressed the word _girlfriend_ made his stomach churn. When the Ravenclaw didn’t say anything else, Dream made to turn around and leave.

“Wait!” George called out, “where are you going? It’s lunch time. The Great Hall’s the other way.”

Dream didn’t look back at George when he replied, “I’m gonna go feed Patches. Don’t wait up.”

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


Dream sat with Bad and Karl at the Hufflepuff table for both lunch _and_ dinner that day.

And the next day, and the day after that.

George wanted to confront him, wanted to scream in frustration at his best friend who was suddenly acting like George had murdered his cat. Perhaps he _would_ have approached Dream if Minx weren’t always glued to his side.

The thing about girlfriends, George realized, was that they were needy. Minx always wanted to sit next to him and talk to him and study with him in the library. She even tried to follow him into the Ravenclaw common room, once.

It was a _lot_ , and George often found himself questioning why anyone would want a girlfriend in the first place.

It was an entire week before Dream sat with the Ravenclaws again. George was happy, at first, instinctively moving over to make space for the Slytherin before realizing that Dream intended to sit between Techno and Wilbur.

“Dream!” Wilbur exclaimed, oblivious to the sudden tension between the two best friends. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How’s Baddeus?”

“Good,” Dream replied nonchalantly. “He’s hoping Professor Sprout will recommend him for Hufflepuff Prefect next year.”

Techno snorted. “Imagine _wantin’_ to be Prefect.”

Eret looked at his roommate incredulously. “Techno, it looks bloody great on a resume. _And_ you get so many privileges!”

“That’s right!” Wilbur realized. “You get to bathe in the Prefect’s bathroom!”

“Oh, please,” the pink haired boy scoffed dismissively, “Prefects are all just tools in an oppressive system. They’re glorified tyrants.”

“Isn’t Philza a prefect?” George muttered.

“Philza obviously doesn’t count.” Techno snapped, shooting him a look, “He isn’t an _actual_ prefect, he’s not a slave to the system, he just holds that title as a formality. If it wasn’t him, it’d have to be some other stuck up snob that’d just abuse and exploit his powers.”

George had more than a few vivid memories of Philza threatening to use his ‘prefect powers’ to get the third-years to bring him stuff from the library or to shut their mouths, but he decided to not mention them.

“Ugh, forget the system for a second, Techno,” Wilbur waved him off, “they have _baths_! _Bubble_ baths!”

“If you want bubbles so bad I could just conjure some for you,” Eret offered.

“It’s not the same,” Wilbur sighed woefully before squinting up at something over George’s head. “Is that my owl?”

George turned around and saw a large barn owl carrying a rolled up newspaper in its talons. In the blink of an eye it swooped down and deposited its parcel in front of Wilbur with a hoot.

“You get the newspaper, too?” Dream exclaimed. “You guys are some _serious_ nerds. I mean, come on, who even—”

The Slytherin boy was abruptly cut off as Wilbur’s owl gave a loud screech and aimed its sharp beak directly at his face.

“What the—WILBUR!” Dream screamed as the owl launched attack after vicious attack, talons coming frighteningly close to clawing out one of the boy’s eyes. “Make it _stop!”_

Wilbur sighed and shot Techno a glare.

“Techno, please tell Friend to stop attacking our friend,” he requested while Dream continued to defend himself against the bird.

“Friend, cut it out,” Techno said in a monotone. Immediately, the owl stopped its assault and turned to hoot at Techno.

Dream was thoroughly disheveled. “What the _hell,_ Wil?” he exclaimed.

“Sorry,” Wilbur apologized, “Techno’s the one who trained Friend to attack blonds.”

“Its name is _Friend?!”_

“Well, yes, Dream. He’s quite a friendly bird.”

“Techno, explain yourself!” Dream demanded, turning to glare at the pink-haired Ravenclaw who was flipping quietly through the newspaper.

“Shut up,” Techno muttered. “I’m readin’ the _Prophet_.”

“What is _wrong_ with you nerds? Seriously, I can’t believe you guys—”

“ _What. The. Fuck.”_ Techno cut him off, slamming the paper on the table as the dishes and utensils around them clattered violently in response. “Is this some kinda bad joke? This is absolute— This is the most _blatant_ attempt at racial division since the fuckin _war!_ This is—!”

“Techno, what is it?” Wilbur asked, his eyebrows knitted in concern.

“Read the goddamn headline!” Techno spat, glaring daggers at the paper before him.

The whole group was silent as everyone leaned in closer to read the print. George had to squint to see, but when the words came into focus, his jaw dropped in shock.

_MUGGLE-BORN BLOOD HOLDS THE SECRET TO SQUIBNESS CURE, W.A.P. REPORTS_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So get this: according to AO3 statistics, only a small percentage of readers actually leave kudos and comments. If you enjoyed this update, please consider leaving kudos and a comment! I have taken the liberty of listing out the pros and cons of leaving comments below:
> 
> Pros of leaving comments: it's free! it's anonymous! it makes Ken so freaking happy! it lets Ken & Grass know you want them to keep writing! 
> 
> Cons of leaving comments: error404 cons not found
> 
> So, in conclusion, please comment! 
> 
> I love you all so much!!!! 40K hits pog? Honestly when I look at the first chapter and this one I see a world of difference in the writing and I can't believe so many of you guys liked this concept enough to stick with me up until now. This project would be nothing without your support. <3 See you next update!


	19. Chapter Nineteen || Year Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and Minx go on a date. Stuff happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello hello!
> 
> I'm back with another update! Gosh, I miss the days when Gra55 and I could write, edit, and post updates every four days lol. University is HARD and real life is soooo busy. 
> 
> ...BUT ENOUGH ABOUT THAT! Please enjoy this chapter and, like always, make sure to tell us what you think! 
> 
> ~Epic fanart ALERT!~
> 
> Thank you to esper-eclipse on Tumblr for [this adorable drawing of our boys in the snow!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/esper-eclipse/642109269862449152)
> 
> Also thank you @ttyomi_ on Twitter for [this cute drawing!](https://twitter.com/ttyomi_/status/1354477658579423232)
> 
> And also thank you to @Sometrashy_tato on Twitter for [this absolutely adorable art!](https://twitter.com/Sometrashy_tato/status/1341274393486401536)

Needless to say, the inflammatory _Daily Prophet_ headline was the primary topic of conversation among the Hogwarts student body for several days after its publishing. And, needless to say, George hated everything about the newspaper article.

He hated the way it single-handedly managed to divide his classmates into sides. He hated the way it exacerbated the tension in all of his classes. He hated the way it brought attention to the _Muggle-born_ label that had been forced upon him the second he’d learned what magic was.

George hated everything about the W.A.P.’s research, so, needless to say, the W.A.P. was the absolute last thing he wanted to discuss in his Tuesday morning Muggle Studies class. Unfortunately for George, however, the W.A.P. was exactly what they talked about.

“Let’s address the Hippogriff in the room, shall we?” Professor Borealis opened with once the third-years were all settled at their desks.

Sighs could be heard throughout the room in response.

“I know, I know,” she continued, “you all have probably spoken at length about current events already. Believe me when I say I am quite... _frustrated..._ with the way the topic has been handled by many of my colleagues. Unfortunately, however…” Professor Borealis paused to level her students with a serious stare. “This matter is out of my hands.”

George’s brow furrowed in confusion at the implications of their professor’s words. Beside him, Minx seemed to perk up in her seat.

“What d’you mean, Professor?” she called out loudly.

George rolled his eyes, expecting Professor Borealis to reprimand the Slytherin girl for speaking out of turn, but was surprised when the professor just pursed her lips and turned to face the chalkboard.

“What I mean, Miss Minx,” she began to answer, fingers curling around a piece of chalk, “is that the Department of Magical Education has issued new curricular guidelines.”

The students stared as their teacher applied the chalk to the blackboard with practiced precision. When she stepped back from her work, the third-years all craned their necks to glimpse the board’s dusty white letters.

_Magicology: Lesson 1_

Murmurs broke out among the group as the students processed the words. Professor Borealis dusted off her hands and pulled her wand out of her sleeve, wordlessly summoning a stack of books from the corner of the room and distributing them to students with a flick of her wrist.

When his copy landed on his desk, George eyed the cover with curiosity. The book itself was unassuming — dark burgundy in color, its pages bound by ordinary leather. It was the title and byline of the tome that made George do a double take.

_New Theories of Magicology and Magibiology: Volume 1, by W. Minx and C.E.A. Selwyn II_

George blanched. _Minx? Selwyn?_ His head whipped to stare at the Slytherin girl beside him, but she was resolutely staring down at her own fingernails. When George glanced at Dream across the room, he discovered that the blond was similarly doodling absently in his notebook.

“Professor,” he heard Techno pipe up from somewhere behind him, “what the hell is this?”

Their professor pinched her nose and huffed. “Language, Mr. Technoblade.”

“Okay, fine. Professor, would you _oblige_ in fulfilling my _inquiry_ as to what the _hell_ this is?”

Professor Borealis narrowed her eyes at him.

"Please." He added.

With a sigh, the teacher picked up her own copy of the book and flipped it open to a particular page. “This is one of our new textbooks. Our course has been given a new name. From now on this is no longer Muggle Studies; this class is now called _Muggles and Magicology_ , or _M &M _ for short.”

Some students, particularly the Ravenclaws, looked excited at the prospect of having a new textbook to study. Most people, however, simply looked confused.

“But...why?” Wilbur asked.

“Because the Ministry wants students to be up-to-date with the goings on of the magical world,” Professor Borealis answered, her voice sounding resigned. “Now that the Wizarding Advancement Project has been recognized as an official branch of the Ministry, its findings are to be given adequate discussion time in class. This new magical study has been dubbed ‘Magicology,’ or the study of magic.”

“Aren’t _all_ of our classes the study of magic?” Schlatt pointed out. “This sounds kinda stupid, Professor.”

“ _Please_ turn to page seven,” their teacher instructed, ignoring further questions. “We are to begin by examining the following chart…”

George couldn’t find it in himself to focus on his professor’s voice with how fast his mind was racing. His eyes skimmed the book’s pages, registering words and phrases with an increasing sense of panic.

 _The Hereditary Nature of Magic,_ read one of the chapter titles. _Understanding the Muggle-born Wizard,_ proclaimed another. Chapter seventeen looked particularly concerning: _Congenital Squibness Disorder._

When he looked back up at the board, George saw their professor scribbling something about magical blood types in chalk. The page they’d been instructed to turn to in their textbook featured a table with the heading, _Pureblood vs Muggle-born Blood Typology_.

George felt sick to his stomach. When class was over, he buried his new textbook at the very bottom of his bookbag where he wouldn’t have to see it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When George wasn’t freaking out about the latest M&M developments, he was apparently being a terrible boyfriend.

“What do you mean, _not yet?”_ Sapnap asked incredulously one Friday evening in the courtyard. Friday evenings were some of the rare occasions George got to walk around the castle without having Minx glued to his side. Before Dream started giving him the cold shoulder, the two best friends would usually pass the time by playing gobstones or just talking to each other under the stars, but ever since Valentine’s Day George has had to spend Friday evenings with Sapnap, instead.

“Uh…” George answered, shrugging his shoulders. “Dunno. Haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

Sapnap shook his head in disappointment. “I can’t believe you’ve been dating for, like, two weeks and _still_ haven’t taken her on an actual date. What’s wrong with you, dude?”

George threw his hands up in exasperation. “How was I supposed to know that I was supposed to do that?”

“You’re her _boyfriend._ ”

“O...kay?”

“That means you have to take her on dates!”

“Well, she hasn’t said anything about it.”

“Because she’s _waiting_ for you to initiate, dude!”

George huffed and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Well, what should I do?”

Sapnap raised an eyebrow. “Wow. I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be smart. It’s a Hogsmeade weekend tomorrow, so take her to Madame Puddifoot’s or something.”

“Madame Puddifoot’s?” George repeated, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “That place is so...froofy.”

“Girls love it, bro.”

“I mean, I suppose…”

“Thatta boy!” Sapnap cheered, patting George on the back. “Trust me, she’ll love it. I am the _best_ wingman, like, ever.”

George thanked Sapnap reluctantly before deciding to head back to his common room. When he arrived at the bronze eagle knocker, he found Eret patiently sitting outside the door.

“Locked out?” George asked once he was in earshot. Eret’s eyes snapped up at him and he nodded glumly.

“It’s one of those philosophical ones today,” George’s roommate huffed. “It didn't appreciate my answer.”

“What did you say?” George asked amusedly.

“Doesn’t matter. Just knock on it already, would you? I’ve been sitting here for ten minutes.”

George snorted and gave the eagle three sharp knocks. He never grew tired of watching the bronze magically transform before his eyes as it prepared to speak. Its metal beak always seemed to sparkle as it came to life, and George found the process mesmerizing.

“ _Journey without it and you will never prevail, but carry too much and you’ll surely fail._ ” The knocker’s whimsical voice spoke evenly.

Eret groaned from his position on the floor. “I said _water_ , so say something else.”

“Water? Why would you say water?”

“Because if you don’t hydrate, you die, but if you carry _too_ much water on you, you’ll collapse under its weight. Water weighs a kilo per liter, you know.”

“This riddle _clearly_ isn’t asking for a physical answer,” George muttered, tapping his chin with his finger as he thought. “I think…”

He snapped his fingers, then, and spoke clearly to the door. “Confidence,” he said evenly. “You need confidence if you want to achieve anything in life, but overconfidence can be a fatal flaw.”

He and Eret waited with bated breath. After several seconds, the door to the common room swung open, much to George’s delight.

“Hmmph,” Eret grumbled, “water was a better answer than _that.”_

As the boys ascended the stairs to their dorm room, the knocker’s riddle echoed in George’s head.

 _Confidence_.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So where are we going, Georgie?” Minx asked as the two of them walked down the cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade. George was under strict instruction from Sapnap to keep the location a surprise ( _“it’s more romantic that way, dude!”)_ so he just pursed his lips and forced a smile.

“I’m not going to tell you,” he reiterated. “That would spoil the surprise.”

Minx groaned exaggeratedly at his words, but George saw that the corner of her lips were pulled up in a smile.

“Alright, then,” she huffed. They lapsed into comfortable silence as George led the way through the picturesque Scottish village.

When they were about three minutes away from the tea shop, George felt a subtle tug on his hand. Surprised by the motion, he flinched backwards and snapped his neck around to look at Minx, who was glaring at him and looking quite offended.

“Um...alright, Minx?” he squeaked, suddenly terrified of the Slytherin girl beside him.

Minx scoffed. “George, I’m trying to hold yer fuckin hand.”

George blinked. “Oh. Why?”

“Are you _joking?_ ” she questioned incredulously. “Didja just ask me _why_ I’m trying to fuckin hold your fuckin hand?”

George ran a hand through his hair nervously and shot Minx his best attempt at an apologetic smile. “Er...yes?”

Minx’s shoulders sagged and she crossed her arms. George wondered what he could say to remedy the situation, but before he could get a word in Minx let out a long sigh.

“Do you...do you not want people to see us together, George?” she asked, averting her eyes.

George stopped in the middle of the street and shot Minx a puzzled look. “What? No, Minx, why would I have a problem with people seeing us together? You...we’re…”

“You _never_ hold my hand in front of people. Well, now that I think about it, you’ve never held my hand, ever.”

George cringed. He’d have been lying if he’d said he hadn’t noticed Minx’s subtle attempts to get physically closer to him in school. The gestures were always small — a head on his shoulder while they ate together in the Great Hall, little nudges in the library whenever they studied there together — but George usually ignored the movements in favor of studying or conversing with his Housemates.

 _Physical affection is distracting,_ he would think to himself every time he gently turned down her advances. _Surely she understands that I need to focus._

But as they stood there in the middle of Hogsmeade, it occurred to George that perhaps Minx _didn’t_ understand.

It dawned on him that she probably saw his actions as outright rejections.

“N-no, Minx, that’s not...I’m so sorry if I...you know what? Here,” he said decisively, reaching out and grasping her left hand with his right one all the while hoping she wouldn’t read too much into the way he’d fumbled with his words. Minx immediately readjusted her handhold so that their fingers were interlaced, and George fought the instinct to pull back and shrink away.

“George?” she asked, her blue eyes wide and inquisitive. “Is this...okay?”

_No._

“Yes,” George nodded. “It’s...warm. A-and nice.”

George wanted to kick himself at how stupid he sounded, but Minx just smiled in response.

“Good,” she grinned. “Now, where are we going?”

The rest of the walk to Madame Puddifoot’s took a tad longer than George would have liked, but Minx didn’t seem to mind the way their linked hands slowed them down. Her expression was uncharacteristically bright when George stopped them in front of the quaint little shop.

“You’re getting us tea?” she asked cheerfully as she peered into the shop windows. Not trusting himself to speak, George nodded.

When Minx took a step towards the door, he halted her with one arm and reached out to hold the door open for her like gentlemen did in movies. Apparently, it was the correct move, because her smile grew impossibly wider.

“Thank you, George,” she said as she stepped inside the shop.

Madame Puddifoot welcomed the two of them warmly and sat them at a table near the window. As George glanced around the interior of the place, he was struck by just how pink and frilly everything was.

“This place looks like a doll house,” he muttered, causing Minx to smile in response.

“It’s nice, isn’t it? Everything’s so bright and pretty and cheerful.”

“I didn’t think you were a cheerful person when I first met you,” George mused. To his astonishment, Minx _blushed._

“I guess...I don’t really get the chance to be cheerful that much,” she confessed quietly.

George was about to say something comforting when Madame Puddifoot approached them with a notepad in hand.

“What will it be, dearies?” she asked sweetly.

George quickly glanced down at the menu and scanned the list of teas and biscuits.

“Umm...I’ll just have a black tea, please,” he said simply, folding his hands in his lap. Minx ordered something much more intricate-sounding along with a small plate of scones. Madame Puddifoot soon tucked the notepad away and left to fetch their orders, leaving them alone again to converse at their table.

“You know, George,” Minx said, placing one of her hands between them on the table as she spoke, “I’m really happy you invited me out today.”

George blushed and took the hint, cautiously placing one of his own hands on top of hers before replying, “Me too.”

They made pleasant conversation until their tea arrived in miniature china teapots. Minx made a contented sound as she poured a stream of the steaming dark purple liquid into a small pink cup. George smiled and poured his own tea slowly, giving the drink ample time to cool before taking a small sip.

“Scone, George? I ordered them to share,” Minx offered, pushing the plate of pastries towards him enticingly. George politely declined and sat back to sip his drink, content to listen to Minx ramble about how hard she found it to pay attention in Divination class.

Just as Minx launched into an impassioned speech about Professor Trelawney’s eyeglasses, George’s gaze landed on a familiar head of blond hair outside the tea shop window.

Dream was walking side by side with Bad. Karl, Sapnap, and Skeppy trailed close behind. The group had clearly visited the joke shop together as they were all carrying Weasley & Weasley shopping bags in their hands and laughing at Karl’s hair, which was changing color every few seconds.

They all looked so...happy.

“And so _I_ said, ‘Schlatt, don’t you fuckin dare or I’ll tear ya a new one,’ but of course that fucker didn’t listen…” Minx continued. George nodded along, only half paying attention.

For a split second, George saw Dream turn to face the tea shop’s window. His green eyes scanned the shop interior before landing on George through the glass.

Then, just as quickly as their gazes met, Dream averted his eyes. George watched as he tugged Bad down the street and disappeared around the corner and out of sight.

“And _then_ I said— wait, George, are ye even listenin t’me?”

George jumped a little in his seat and snapped his attention back to Minx, who was staring at him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

“Of course!” he said hurriedly, tightening his grip on her hand. He hoped she didn’t notice the way his palms were just a _bit_ too sweaty.

“Hmm,” she hummed skeptically. “Well, then. I’ve finished off the scones, so shall we leave?”

George nodded and waved down Madame Puddifoot to ask for the bill. She returned with it moments later and set it down on their table, along with a little tray of breath mints.

“Thank you,” George said politely as he reached for the receipt. It occurred to him, belatedly, that he would be expected to pay for their date. He tried to brush the worries that usually came with thoughts about money away; surely two cups of tea and a few scones wouldn’t bankrupt him.

When his eyes focused on the total, he nearly had a heart attack then and there.

There were two prices listed at the bottom of the piece of paper. One was reasonable and only a bit out of his comfort zone, while the other was so stupidly expensive that George thought it had to have been a misprint.

As casually as he could, he cleared his throat and slid the paper across the table to Minx.

“I think there’s a mistake with the price,” he muttered. “Is it just me, or are there two very different totals listed there?”

Minx glanced at the receipt briefly before rolling her eyes. “It’s just the W.A.P. partnership prices,” she huffed, as if it were obvious. “Almost all the shops in Hogsmeade are W.A.P. partners. The higher price is only if ya didn’t donate blood, so you don’t hafta worry about that one.”

George nodded dumbly and swallowed.

He’d never heard of W.A.P. partner prices, nor had he donated any blood to qualify for it. Prices were something he definitely should have considered _before_ taking Minx on a date, but he figured tea and a few crumpets wouldn’t drain his savings.

The whopping one galleon and thirteen sickle total printed on the receipt told him he’d been sorely mistaken.

He opened his wallet and tried to discreetly count the coins inside, praying he had enough to afford the much higher price. To his dismay, he had only thirty sickles on him, slightly more than half of what he needed.

Swallowing his pride, he placed all of his money on the table and turned to Minx.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized to his date, “but I can’t...I don’t have enough.”

Minx raised an eyebrow. “You invited me out on a date and forgot to bring money with you?”

“N-no!” George stammered, “I just didn’t know about the W.A.P. partnership thing, and—”

“Doncha have your donor card on ya?”

George bit his lip. “I didn’t donate.”

Minx blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A few tense moments passed before Minx sighed and pulled out her own coin purse. “It’s alright, I’ll get it.”

George felt his face heat up with shame. “I can pay for my half,” he assured her, pushing all of his sickles across the table. Minx counted out the change and flagged down Madame Puddifoot again, flashing her a bright yellow card with the word _DONOR_ printed on it. After a short exchange, Minx stood up from the table and looked pointedly at George.

“Ready to leave?” she asked curtly, nodding towards the exit. George hurried to hold the door open for her as they left the shop, following closely behind her as she led them down the cobblestone streets and set in the direction of the castle.

George sensed that something was wrong; Minx’s movements were unusually stiff, and she didn’t even try to hold his hand again like she often did when they were together. Even her trademark scowl was frownier than usual.

“Are you angry?” George asked nervously, struggling to keep up with her longer strides.

“No,” she replied brusquely.

“O-okay.”

Several minutes later, George pointed to the joke shop as they passed by. “Would you like to stop and look inside Weasley’s?”

“No, George.”

“Oh, alright. I just thought, well, I know you like that shop, so—”

“I just want to go back to the castle.”

“Oh...okay.”

When they finally reached the castle many awkward minutes later, Minx didn’t even say goodbye to him before she darted down the corridor and disappeared in the direction of the Slytherin dungeons. As George watched her figure vanish around the corner, all he could do was wonder what on earth he’d done wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looking back on it, George should have seen it coming.

He and Minx didn’t speak for a few days after their awkward Hogsmeade date. When George finally told Sapnap what had transpired, the younger Gryffindor was appalled.

“Of _course_ she was pissed, man!” the bandana-clad second-year exclaimed. “You took her out on a date and made her pay!”

“She only paid for her half,” George shrugged.

“That’s still— _ugh,_ George, why is it that _I’m_ putting more work into your own relationship than you are? Okay, here’s how you’re gonna fix this…”

That was how George found himself standing outside the Slytherin common room after dinner several days later, a handful of roses in one hand and a poorly-written poem in the other.

_Please come out, please come out, please—_

And, in spite of how pissed she’d looked when George had asked her to meet him that evening, Minx stepped out into the hallway with her arms crossed and her signature scowl on her face.

“What?” she demanded, eyeing the Ravenclaw boy up and down.

George gulped and wordlessly held out the hastily-assembled bouquet. When Minx didn’t make a move to take it, he coughed and glanced down at his poem nervously.

“Erm...well...I, um, wrote this for you. So...yeah,” he said, holding the paper up to his eyes and clearing his throat.

“ _Dear Minx, I am sorry that I did you wrong,_

_And if I could sing well, I’d sing you a song._

_But I cannot sing and nor can I dance,_

_So please give this run-of-the-mill poem a chance._

_If sorry if I came across as quite rude_

_When I didn’t bring money to pay for our food._

_I’m sorry this took me a long time to say;_

_I shouldn’t have waited an entire three days._

_But I brought you some roses here, as you can see,_

_So Minx, please come out to the courtyard with me?”_

When he was finished reading, he chanced a glance up at Minx. To his relief, she was no longer scowling; on the contrary, the corners of her lips looked twitchy, as if she was suppressing a smile. Finally, she spoke.

“You’re so fuckin dense, George,” she stated. George’s heart fell.

_Sapnap was wrong. This wasn’t going to work. What was he even thinking? Why would a stupid poem—_

“But you’re adorable,” Minx said, her eyes flickering with an emotion George couldn’t quite place.

_...What?_

With that, Minx snatched the bouquet from George’s hands and began to walk down the hall. After several steps, she turned around and shot George a questioning look.

“Are ye coming, or what? You wanted to go to the courtyard, didn’t you?”

That was all the encouragement he needed to follow the Slytherin girl up the staircase and out of the castle into the crisp early-March air. There were barely any students outside. It was just as Sapnap predicted: most people were already holed up in their common rooms so close to curfew. The moon illuminated the square with soft, pale light, causing the water spouting up from the central fountain to sparkle.

It was beautiful.

George took a deep breath and reached for Minx’s hand, shoulders sagging in relief when she took it silently. He led her to the spot Sapnap had suggested, a patch of grass a little ways away from the fountain where the shrubbery cast shadows that would shield them from prying eyes. He sat down first, patting the spot beside him in a silent invitation.

“What, you didn’t even think to bring a blanket? I’m just supposed to sit my arse down in the grass?” Minx said.

George’s face heated up and he hurriedly shrugged off his jumper, intending to let her sit on it, only to be stopped by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Minx was _smiling._ “I was only joking. Merlin, you’re cute,” she said softly.

“O-oh,” George stuttered, slowly tugging his jumper back on. “Yeah, sorry.”

Minx laughed and sat down beside him, tugging her knees close to her chest and tilting her head up to look at the stars.

“The sky’s pretty tonight,” she commented in a voice barely above a whisper.

And George was rendered speechless, because what was there to say?

_Focus. You came here to make it up to her._

He could hear Sapnap’s voice in his head urging him to say something romantic. The pep talk he’d been given an hour earlier was still fresh in his mind, a bulleted list of lines and actions undoubtedly compiled from cheesy romance films and fairytales.

_If I’m a bird, you’re a bird. No, that wasn’t it. If I’m a bird...we’re both birds?_

He threw the pep talk out the window. If he was going to make a fool of himself, he’d do it on his own terms.

“Your eyes,” George said, his gaze still fixed on the Slytherin girl staring up at the sky. “They were the first thing I noticed about you.”

Minx smiled. Her eyelids fluttered closed, casting gentle shadows on her cheeks.

“Really?”

“Yes,” George nodded. “Blue’s my favorite color. It’s the only one I can see properly.”

Minx chuckled and peeked one eye open. “I’m more of a fan of brown eyes, myself.”

It was George’s turn to look away, then. “Brown’s not _that_ special.”

“I think it is.”

When George looked back at Minx, her face was much closer than it had been before. He shuffled a bit where he sat and tried to ignore the uncomfortable pounding of his heart in his chest.

“I was so happy when I was sorted into Ravenclaw,” George said idly, twisting a blade of grass between his fingers. “When McGonagall pulled the hat off my head I remember seeing this sea of blue and just feeling... _joy.”_

Minx chuckled fondly at him and shook her head. “I just felt bored during the ceremony.”

“How?” George asked disbelievingly. “It was so exciting!”

“I dunno,” Minx shrugged. “I suppose I just found it predictable. My whole family’s Slytherin.”

“That doesn’t have to mean anything,” George said dismissively. “Neither one of Schlatt’s parents is Slytherin, right? And he’s your Housemate.”

Minx’s gaze darkened almost imperceptibly at the mention of Schlatt. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Sensing that the mood was souring, George looked around him for a distraction, grinning when he spotted a faint orange glow over Minx’s right shoulder.

“Look,” he said, leaning closer to her slightly to point at the light source, “it’s a Flitterby moth.”

Minx barely even glanced at the insect. “Interesting.”

“No, really,” George said, “it’s right there, Minx! And it’s glowing!”

“That’s what Flitterby moths do. They glow.”

“But—”

And suddenly, before George could process what was happening, Minx’s face was mere millimeters away from his own.

In retrospect, the moments that followed probably only lasted several seconds, but to George they felt like an eternity.

His brain first registered that her eyes were closed — _why would she close her eyes like that? —_ before he realized that her lips were ever so slightly parted. It wasn’t until he felt her warm breath fan across his face that he realized Minx’s intentions, and by then it was much too late to gracefully stop what was happening.

So, in a moment of sheer panic, he did probably the stupidest thing he could have done in that situation: he pushed Minx away.

In the blink of an eye, Minx was sprawled out on her back on the grass, an expression of pure shock on her face that quickly morphed into the deadliest kind of scowl. In the short time it took for her to pull herself up into a standing position, George willed for the ground to swallow him whole.

“You...you _pushed_ me,” Minx stated, her voice tinged with angry disbelief.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“You _pushed_ me, George!” she interrupted him, seething. “I tried to fuckin _kiss_ you and you _pushed_ me to the ground!”

George’s mouth went dry as he searched his brain frantically for something to say, _some_ sort of excuse for his actions.

“I was scared!” he cried, throwing his hands in the air. “I didn’t know you were going to do that! You didn’t even _ask_ me—”

Minx scoffed. “ _A_ _sk_ you? I’m your _girlfriend,_ you arse!”

“It was so sudden! I was unprepared!”

“You leaned into me _first!_ You gave me the signal!”

“I leaned in so I could point at the _moth!”_

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, George, no one gives a shit about the fuckin moth! That was obviously an excuse to—”

“To _what_ , to _kiss_ you? I didn’t even _want_ to kiss you!”

George’s words hung in the air between them, and for once it was Minx who was speechless.

“You…” she said, her voice breaking on the word, “you didn’t want to kiss me?”

George shook his head. “No, Minx, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“You didn’t _want_ to kiss me. So, what, ye find me repulsive?” she asked, outraged.

“ _No_ , I—”

“Are you a liar? Were ye lying when ye said ye liked me and thought I was pretty and wanted to be my boyfriend?”

The denial was on the tip of his tongue but the words refused to spill from his mouth. At that moment, the roses that Minx had carefully set aside at their feet made a faint popping noise and began to wither away. Minx bent over to examine the flowers, scoffing when she saw what remained in the grass.

“I can’t believe you, George,” Minx spat bitterly, holding up three rusty paper clips. “You didn’t even think I was worth real roses?”

George shrugged helplessly. “I-I wanted to buy you some, but real roses are so expensive—”

“I can’t believe you transfigured fuckin office supplies just so you could bring me out here and _humiliate_ me!” Minx yelled, tossing the paper clips in his face. She looked all at once furious and disappointed and forlorn, and George didn’t know which emotion he dreaded more.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I should have known better!” the Slytherin girl cried angrily into the night. “People tried to warn me, you know, but I didn’t fuckin listen!”

“I’m _sorry!”_

“I should have known better than to date a stupid mudblood!”

For the second time that night, time froze.

In spite of all the inescapable talk of pureblood supremacy that floated around the castle, George had never actually experienced _that_ word. He’d seen it written down, sure, he’d even heard professors carefully use it when quoting texts in class. But never, not once since he’d learned of his wizarding status, had the word been used against _him._

_Mudblood mudblood mudblood mudblood mudblood—_

The word felt like an arrow to the center of his chest. It travelled from his heart and through his bloodstream like poison, setting his whole body alight with anguish and hurt and visceral rage.

He was shaking.

When George tried to focus his eyes on Minx, the Slytherin girl wouldn’t even look at him.

George snapped.

“You _don’t_ get to say that to me,” he growled, pointing an accusatory finger at her and taking a step forward. “You have no _right_.”

Minx said nothing.

“You don’t get to try to...to _kiss_ me and then call me _that,”_ he continued, “you don’t get to sit across from me for more than two years at _my_ lunch table and then call me _that._ You just _don’t_.”

Minx looked like she wanted to say something, but George didn’t give her a chance.

“If you really think I’m just a ‘stupid mudblood,’ Minx, then how about I tell you what I really think of you?” George suggested venomously. “I think you’re an ignorant, rude, insufferable, shallow, racist _cow_.”

“George—”

“I didn’t even plan to ask you out,” George confessed, shrugging, “I only did it because Sapnap told me to. I didn’t write the note, I didn’t plan the dates, I wasn’t even the one who transfigured the _fucking_ paper clips into roses!” he yelled. “I never really liked you, so you can sod right off!”

By the time he finished, George was breathing heavily and his fists were clenched in suppressed fury. Minx, on the other hand, no longer looked angry. Under the light of the moon, George could make out clear teartracks trailing down her face.

They stared at each other for several tense seconds. Then, Minx ran.

George didn’t even look at her as she left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Schlatt twirled his wand between his fingers absentmindedly as he lay on his bed. His roommates were once again talking about some shit he couldn’t care less about, which meant that, unless he wanted to leave the comfort of his soft eiderdowns, he was forced to listen to their conversation.

Scratch that — it wasn’t much of a conversation. In fact, the only person who _was_ talking was Eric. Anyone with two functioning brain cells could see that no one else was interested in his stories, but the fucking idiot couldn’t read the room for the life of him.

"So then _I_ told him that _my_ family’s manor could fit six of his, an’ he shut right up!” Eric boasted, waving his arms excitedly at Dream. “I mean, everyone knows that the MacMillans are a bunch of knobheads. Can you even imagine—”

The door to their dorm room burst open just then, cutting Eric's rambling off instantly. All four roommates snapped their heads in the intruder's direction, locking their eyes onto a disheveled looking Minx. The sight of her made Schlatt’s heart drop; her eyes were puffy and swollen and her face was streaked with tears.

"Holy shit, what happened?!" Schlatt exclaimed, dropping his wand onto his bed and leaping to his feet.

"I fucked up," she choked out, her voice cracking. She took a few small steps into the room before Schlatt rushed over and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Dream shot a puzzled look at Minx before his eyes widened.

"I-I'm gonna go." He muttered, dashing out of the door before anyone could let him know they didn't ask.

“Uh…um...” GB80 stammered, grabbing Eric’s sleeve and tugging him out the door. “Eric and I are gonna go practice pwning noobs on the quidditch pitch, so, uh, bye!”

“What? No we weren’t. Stop grabbing me like—”

“Read the fucking room, you dipshit,” Schlatt hissed, to which Eric grumbled and begrudgingly followed GB80 out into the common room.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Minx collapsed to the floor. Schlatt followed suit, crouching to the ground beside her before digging into his robe and handing her a tissue.

She snatched it from his hand without even bothering to murmur some sort of thanks. Not that he blamed her or anything; whatever happened must've fucked her up real bad.

Schlatt wasn't a stranger to Minx's tears. Nobody really was. Minx was a great, shameless crier. The woman could cry on demand when she wanted to, which got her out of more than one flying lesson in their first two years at Hogwarts. Getting Minx to turn on the waterworks and having Schlatt escort her out into the hall was one of their favorite class-ditching acts, in fact.

Schlatt knew as soon as he laid eyes on her that these weren't her usual fake class-ditching tears, nor were they her over dramatic, I’m-going-to-cry-until-you-apologize-profusely-for-something-you-didn’t-do tears. No, these were real, honest tears of sadness, the kind that made Schlatt’s stomach churn. As he watched Minx sob he was torn between wanting to punch someone and wrap her in a giant bear hug.

He’d do both, he decided.

"I really fucked up now." She sobbed, blowing her nose loudly before holding her hand out for another tissue.

"What the fuck did he do?" Schlatt asked, handing her the whole pack from inside his robes. "It's always the gross ratty ones that you don't expect, huh? You need me to _Avada_ him for you, or did you already get him yourself? Is Selwyn gonna find that bastard's good for nothin’ corpse somewhere in the school or—?"

"Are ya fuckin _deaf_? I said _I_ fucked up. Me. It was all my fuckin fault," she snapped, more tears welling up in her eyes as she tried to stammer out an explanation.

Schlatt sighed, rubbing circles into Minx's back while she choked back her tears. "'S alright, just let it all out 'n tell me when you're done, they're not gonna be coming back anytime soon."

Minx shook her head, "I-I don't wanna fuckin cry now," she stuttered. "I don't even deserve it, I did a really shitty fuckin thing and I didn't even fuckin apologize. I just ran away crying like a pussy."

"Well, you didn't murder his family and then spit on their graves, right?" He chuckled dryly as Minx rolled her red-rimmed eyes. "C'mon, I know you, you don't just do shitty things and run away crying. You're not a bad person, Minx."

"Yeah, I fuckin thought so too." She gritted her teeth, "I-I really thought I was gettin better, but I'm just as much of an arsehole as I was in Year One."

Schlatt’s eyes widened. It had been a while since he’s had to give Minx _this_ kind of pep talk.

"Did- Did you hit your fuckin head or something?” He questioned. “Turn around and look at me right fuckin now." He grabbed the girl beside him by her shoulders and stared directly into her teary eyes. "I've _never_ seen someone who was raised the way you were get to where you are now. You've been working hard, Minx. Even before we made friends with those fuckin blue assholes you've been trying to fix yourself. I've seen it with my own eyes. Who do you think you're kiddin, huh?"

Minx tore her eyes away from him, biting her quivering lip. Everything about her posture was screaming that she wanted him to shut the fuck up, but Schlatt ignored her and pressed on.

"No offense, but you’ve got a _really_ shitty family,” Schlatt said, making the girl opposite him snort. “I mean, think about all the pigshit they’ve been drillin into your head since day one! I don't even know _how_ someone like that decides to start taking the steps to unlearn that shit. You're fuckin incredible, Minx." He squeezed her shoulder in support. "You're _amazing._ How can you say that you haven't grown after all that—"

"I called him a _fucking mudblood._ ”

Schlatt froze mid-sentence, throat suddenly going dry. Minx chuckled humorlessly.

“So much for having changed, right?” she said bitterly. “I’m an arsehole, just like the rest of them.”

“You’re not,” Schlatt rebutted, shaking his head.

“I am. I wasn’t even— _Merlin,_ I wasn’t even _thinking._ I was just… I was really fuckin _hurt_ , alright? 'N it sounds fuckin stupid now, calling 'im a slur because he hurt my _feelings_ like I'm some kinda idiotic kid, but our entire relationship was fucked!"

Schlatt nodded. She didn't exactly _need_ to tell him all the gritty details, anyone with _eyes_ could see that that George kid was being a dickhead. He was the one who asked her out, for fucks sake, and then he went on to ignore her every time they were in public.

"It just felt like he was constantly leading me on! Every time I was ready to end the stupid thing he'd come in with something nice 'n new…" she pursed her lips, "Well, actually, it _wasn't_ him. He didn't care about me enough to do shit on his own, it was his fuckin Gryffindor friend—"

"Who, Shitstack? That prick was helping the smurf lead you on?!"

"It— no, it wasn't his fault! Stop tryin ta flip this on its head, alright?!" She spat, glaring at him, " _I_ was bein the arse here. Me. A bunch of fake roses and a shite date he didn't even pay for shouldn't've been enough for me ta stick around like some kinda fuckin sissy. I shouldn't've avoided him, I should've broken up with him a long fuckin time ago, but I was being a pussy."

They sat there for a silent second before Minx groaned and slammed her face into her hands, "Ugh, he was just bein’ such a prick during this 'apology' date! I couldn't handle it, everyone's been saying he was no good and I shouldn't be goin out with him because he's— and I _defended_ him! I told them all to shut the fuck up every single _time_ and then he shoved me and it was like he was provin them right—!”

Schlatt’s shoulders tensed. “He _pushed_ you?”

“Oh, relax, would ya? You’ve seen 'im, he’s so scrawny he couldn’t hurt me if he tried,” Minx insisted. “ _I’m_ the horrible racist arse. I called him the fuckin worst thing I could’ve called him and then ran away like a coward,” she sighed. “Merlin, I’m a pussy. No wonder I’m not in Gryffindor.”

“You’re too smart for Gryffindor. That House is full o’ nimrods. I’m surprised Eric didn’t get put there.”

Minx laughed weakly and then broke off with another dry sob. “Well, I deserve to be here in this fuckin dungeon. I’m never going to look George in the eye again.”

Schlatt shook his head. “Now _that_ would be a pussy move.”

“I _am_ a pussy.”

“No you’re not. You’re gonna go apologize to him tomorrow.”

“He won’t want to hear it.”

“Well, tough shit. Listen,” Schlatt said seriously, “he doesn’t know about all the shit you’ve had to put up with in your life. You’ve _gotta_ be honest with him and apologize. You know it’s the right thing to do.”

Minx shrugged. “I’ll try. I wouldn’t be surprised if he spat in my face, though.”

“Hey, spitting is your thing. To tell you the truth, it sounds to me like you were both assholes to each other and I’m sure he’s got plenty to apologize for, too. But I don’t give a shit about what Gogi says. I care about _you,_ and I know that the only way you’ll forgive yourself is if you do what’s right.”

When Minx left their dorm room, Schlatt liked to think that he’d done alright with the whole pep talk thing.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


It took George several minutes to catch his breath after his fight with Minx. As he gathered his thoughts, the Flitterby moth fluttered unconcernedly around his head, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

“This is your fault,” he whispered to the insect. Its only reply was a faint flicker of orange light.

He glanced at his pocket watch. The clock face read nine fifty-five. Realizing that he barely had five minutes until curfew, George forced his legs to carry him back into the castle and up the stairs to Ravenclaw Tower. He walked on autopilot, barely acknowledging the portraits and ghosts that tried to speak to him in the halls.

When he arrived at the second floor, he ducked around a corner and jumped through a picture frame he knew led to a hidden staircase. Although he wasn’t late yet, the last thing he wanted to do was bump into a prefect on patrol. His footsteps echoed off the stone brick walls as he took the stairs two at a time in his hurry.

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he didn’t notice the person at the top of the staircase until he walked right into him.

George yelped as he collided with the figure, taking a few hurried steps back in an attempt to put some space between them.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, “I didn’t notice you—” his voice cut off when he looked up at the person’s face and a familiar set of green eyes met his own. “ _Dream?”_

It was, indeed, Dream. The Slytherin boy looked somewhat disheveled, his blond hair still wet from what must have been a very recent shower. George opened and closed his mouth several times, wondering what on earth his former best friend was doing in Ravenclaw Tower past curfew.

“George,” Dream said finally, and George realized that those were the first words they’d exchanged directly in weeks.

“What are you doing here?” he questioned the taller boy with a frown, eyes glancing around the secluded hallway wearily. “The dungeons are downstairs.”

Dream winced at the harsh note in George’s voice, but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he withdrew his wand and muttered a quiet _Lumos,_ casting the both of them in soft white light.

“ _George._ Are you okay?” he asked, sounding oddly concerned. “What happened?”

George blinked. “Pardon?”

Dream blew out a breath and repeated the question. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I was just on my way back to my common room, actually, so if you don’t mind—”

George made to move past Dream to exit the hidden staircase, but the other boy stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, wait,” Dream said, blocking the exit with his body. “George, c’mon. What happened?”

It was then that George realized his own eyes were watering. He swiped at the teardrops hastily, unwilling to let Dream see them fall.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Let me pass, please.”

Dream’s eyebrows knit together in concern. “George, what’s going on?” he pressed. “Did Minx hurt you? Jinx you? Hex you? What happened?”

George groaned. If Dream already knew about their fight, the rest of the school would likely know by the next morning. The Hogwarts drama mill was going to have a field day with the new gossip.

“I said _nothing_ , Dream,” George repeated firmly. “Let me pass.”

“When Minx said something about fucking up, I had to come check on you. Are you _sure_ you’re good? Do I have to go beat her up now or something? Are you—”

“ _Dream.”_ George interrupted, all of the hurt and anger and frustration from earlier seeping into his voice. “Why do you care?”

Dream looked taken aback. He flicked a damp strand of hair out of his eyes and regarded George with something akin to confusion. “Why do I _care?”_

George jutted his chin out and stood a little taller. “Yeah. You’re clearly not my friend anymore, so why do you even care?”

The Slytherin flinched back as if he’d been struck. “You don’t mean that,” he said. “Of course I’m still your friend.”

“This is the first time in two weeks that you’ve talked to me. That’s not friendly behavior.”

“Because _you_ obviously wanted space,” Dream shot back, annoyed.

“That’s rubbish. You _know_ I’ve been trying to talk to you. Every single time I try to get your attention, you ignore me!”

“Oh, cut the crap, George—”

“No, _you_ cut the crap!” the Ravenclaw snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at Dream’s chest. “You stopped sitting with me during lunch—”

“I wanted to see Bad and Karl!”

“You changed seats in all our shared classes—”

“So you could sit with your _girlfriend!”_

“You look at me like I’m a piece of poo on the pavement—”

“Oh, come _on—”_

“So what am I supposed to think, Dream? You—” George swallowed and glared at the blond boy before him, “you _really_ hurt my feelings.”

Dream grit his teeth. His eyes were no longer concerned like they had been earlier, having taken on an angry glint during George’s outburst. George might have found the sight unsettling if he weren’t so cross.

“I hurt _your_ feelings?” Dream scoffed, tone dripping with bitterness. “Did you ever stop to think about how _I_ felt these past few weeks, George?”

“You are _not_ the victim here!”

“Neither are you!” Dream exclaimed, voice echoing off the stone bricks around them. “You left me for some...for some _girl!”_

“You’re such a drama queen,” George rolled his eyes, “I did not _leave_ you.”

“You did, though. The second you asked her out it was all ‘Minx this’ and ‘Minx that.’ She never left your fucking side! I couldn’t spend any time with you anymore!”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“No it’s _not!”_ Dream huffed. “You know, I might have understood if you’d let me in on the whole thing. You _promised_ you’d tell me if you ever liked anyone, remember?”

“That wasn’t—”

“I can’t believe you told _Sapnap_ before you told me. You told a _twelve-year-old_ about your crush but you didn’t tell me.”

“You’re only thirteen, in case you’ve forgotten,” George reminded Dream sarcastically. “You’re no old man, yourself.”

“That’s not the point.”

George let out an irritated sigh through his nose and closed his eyes. The events of the day were taking a physical toll on him and he wanted nothing more to crawl into his bed and sleep for a week. He knew he didn’t have the energy to carry the argument on for much longer.

“I’m done talking to you, Dream,” he muttered. “Let me up to my common room.”

“No.”

“If you don’t move, I’ll hex you.”

“I’d like to see you try, you stupid m—”

“ _Stupefy!”_

The spell tumbled from George’s lips reflexively, red light flashing by his wand tip and hitting Dream squarely in the chest. The taller boy fell to the floor in a heap, unconscious.

George, upon realizing what he’d done, let his wand clatter to the floor.

“You _don’t_ get to say that to me,” he whispered into the dark, sliding down the wall and taking a seat on the stone steps. “Y-you d-don’t get to…”

Minutes passed. Dream remained unmoving aside from the steady rise and fall of his chest. George contemplated leaving him there until he woke up on his own, but couldn’t bring himself to move.

_You stupid mudblood. Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood—_

Had Dream really been about to say it?

It took the Slytherin fifteen minutes to finally stir. George watched with trepidation as his eyelids fluttered and his fingers twitched.

“Eugh...George?” Dream groaned, rolling over onto his side and peeking one green eye open.

George wordlessly met his gaze, blinking away a fresh wave of tears. In spite of his best efforts, the traitorous droplets spilled down his cheeks.

“Are you...crying?” Dream asked, pulling himself up into a sitting position. “Why are _you_ crying when you’re the one who just stunned me?”

“You were—” George hiccuped and wiped the tears away with his sleeve. “I...you...you were going t-to call me a…” he cut off, the word catching in his throat and choking him.

Dream looked confused. “I was gonna call you a stupid moron, cuz you _are._ Did you _really_ have to stun me like that? Jeez.” Dream paused and rubbed the back of his head with a wince. “Darn, that hurt.”

“A m-moron?”

“Uh, _yeah._ Did you _also_ hit your head or something? What else would I have called you?”

George tried to stop the tears, but he was too far gone. A choked sob left his lips and he wrapped his arms around his knees, trying to make himself as small as possible so he could disappear.

“I thought you…” he sniffled, “I thought you were going t-to call m-me a m-m…” George trailed off, voice wobbly and wet.

It didn’t take long for Dream to put two and two together. George heard him gasp and shuffle closer to his side.

“No, no, no, George, I would never...I’d never call you _that,”_ he breathed, placing a hand on George’s back awkwardly. “What even made you _think_ that was what I was gonna say?”

George took a few shaky breaths and buried his face in his hands.

“M-Minx…” he murmured, swallowing, “Minx s-said people w-warned her not to...not to date a stupid m-mudblood.”

Beside him, Dream went rigid.

“Minx called you that?”

George nodded, not trusting himself to speak coherently. A tense silence followed, and when George finally chanced a look up at Dream, he saw that the other boy looked murderous.

“I’m gonna kill her,” he vowed, picking his wand up off the floor and gripping it tightly in his hand. “I’m gonna fucking _murder_ her.”

George’s eyes widened in alarm. “N-no,” he stuttered, looking at Dream pleadingly. “Don’t say anything, please. I was horrid to her as well.”

Dream shook his head. “You couldn’t be horrible to someone if you tried.”

“Says the guy who I just stunned,” George snorted.

Both of them went silent, then, as they heard a meow on the other side of the door. Their heads snapped towards each other and they shared an alarmed look.

“Mrs. Norris,” George whispered. “Filch must be close behind!”

“We gotta get outta here,” Dream hissed back urgently.

“What? Where would we go? My common room is—”

Suddenly, the door to the staircase creaked open. Both boys turned to face the intruder with wide eyes.

“Mrrrow?”

Dream blinked at the cat before him several times before doubling over and letting out one of his trademark wheezes.

“P- _Patches?”_ he snickered, bending over to gather the orange and brown tabby in his arms. “What are you doing here, girl?”

George shook his head in disbelief and crossed his arms. “Your cat just gave us a heart attack.”

Dream shrugged and scratched the cat under her chin. “She does that sometimes. I wonder what she’s doing all the way up here, though. Were you worried about me, Pumpkin?” he cooed, nuzzling the feline’s fur fondly.

George sighed, a fresh wave of exhaustion hitting him at once. He glanced down at his watch and gasped when he saw that it was already past eleven.

“What?” Dream asked, eyeing George’s watch curiously. “How late is it?”

“An hour past curfew. We should be leaving,” George answered.

“You’re probably right.”

Neither one of them moved.

George cleared his throat. “Um, well, I’ll just…” he said awkwardly, shuffling towards the door. Dream, thankfully, stepped out of his way.

“I’m still mad at you,” the blond stated, eyes looking into George’s intensely. “This conversation isn’t over.”

George swallowed the lump in his throat. “No, I suppose it isn’t.”

“But George?”

“Hmm?”

The corners of Dream’s mouth quirked up in a faint smile. “Just cuz I’m mad at you doesn’t mean I’m not your friend.”

George smiled back, suddenly feeling as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “You’re my _best_ friend, Dream,” he whispered in reply.

“I know,” the Slytherin replied obnoxiously.

George rolled his eyes. “I take it back. You’re awful.”

“You love me.”

_Yeah._

“No.”

“Well you know what best friends do for each other, Gogi?” Dream asked, expression briefly becoming serious again. “They beat up each others’ racist ex-girlfriends.”

“Please don’t,” George sighed.

“We’ll see. Goodnight.”

And, with a final wave and a meow from Patches, Dream was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most people who read this  
> Will not leave their thoughts  
> Which makes Ken big sad  
> (like really a lots)  
> So if you are reading  
> Pls comment for me  
> I cherish each one  
> That my eyes do be see.
> 
> Uh, yeah, so pls comment. For real though even though I get really busy and don't get around to replying to all of them, each one of your comments lands in my email inbox and brightens my day! It's such big motivation like you wouldn't believe!
> 
> Also: I made Twitter! You can follow me @KangarooKenn but I won't be that active. I made it because I realized that a few people were already talking about this fic on there and damnit I want my clouttttt. So, uh, if you make fanart or wanna tweet me or something, I'm on there!
> 
> Ken's tumblr: kangarooken.tumblr.com  
> Gra55's tumblr: extragrassydetails.tumblr.com


	20. Chapter Twenty || Year Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George's third year at Hogwarts comes to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> This update is loooong. Consider it a belated Valentine's Day gift from me to you :D Hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> -FANART-
> 
> Thank you to @_mooncat_1 on instagram for [this cute fanart of our boys!](https://www.instagram.com/p/CLD1QcVBT4B/?igshid=1krmpts3diq92)
> 
> Remember guys, if you make fanart, TAG ME OR GRASS! I only found the one above because my good friend [Maaiams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maaiams/pseuds/Maaiams) (her fics rock, btw, check her out) brought it to my attention. I want to showcase all your beautiful work and give you credit!

Minx soon discovered that apologizing to George wouldn’t be as easy as Schlatt had made it out to be. The hardest part of the apology wasn’t getting her head outta her ass, or gathering the courage to do it, or even getting George to listen — it was getting past his bastard of a bodyguard.

She couldn’t get within five meters of her ex without Selwyn getting in her way. The condescending hypocrite was always on the lookout for her, always ready to whisk George away in the opposite direction whenever she so much as glanced their way. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d been mere seconds away from getting the Ravenclaw alone only to be stopped by that motherfucker.

To say that Minx was annoyed was an understatement: she was fucking pissed.

The shite food she’d been forced to eat at the Slytherin table after their breakup only made matters worse. She couldn’t approach the Ravenclaw table without getting glared at. George’s Housemates gave her the cold shoulder in the halls. She _wanted_ to be a good person, she _wanted_ to apologize, but how could she if no one ever gave her a chance?

At least she had Schlatt.

The fucker hadn't even once considered abandoning Minx. The morning after she’d used up all of his tissues, he’d plopped down next to her at breakfast, right beside all the other snakes. He acted like they were a package deal. Like they were in it together.

A few days post-fuck up, Minx decided to let him off the hook.

"Ye don't hafta suffer with me, ya know. This is, like, my punishment." She told him, grimacing as she poked the rubbery eggs on her plate. Schlatt merely snickered and jabbed her in the ribs.

"Aw, what, are ya breaking up with me too?" He teased. "Whose shoulder are you gonna cry on about this one, huh? Pretty sure the number of people who can tolerate you in this school has dropped to the negatives."

"Fuck off," she mumbled, casting her eyes down to her plate.

Even though she hated his words, she knew he was right. In a matter of days, the news of her breakup had spread like wildfire among the student body. It wasn’t just the Ravenclaw and Slytherin kids shooting her dirty looks in the halls anymore; just the day prior, a random Gryffindor had congratulated her for having the 'Messiest Breakup in Hogwarts History'.

If her reputation hadn’t already been at rock bottom, she would've hexed the bitch.

Even worse, though, were the reactions from many of the older Slytherins. Most of the arseholes were split between throwing I-told-you-so's at her and _praising_ her for a job well done.

She didn't know which one she hated more.

Good thing George wasn't the only one who gained a bodyguard after their breakup. Minx wasn’t sure what she would have done if she didn’t have Schlatt around to tell all the fuckers to shut the fuck up the second they opened their mouths.

It was weird, how their Housemates all respected him. No one except her knew about the complexity of Schlatt’s situation, and even she didn’t have all the little details. But word in the British wizarding world traveled fast, and all it took for Schlatt to earn street cred were a few whispers from kids whose parents claimed to have seen him at W.A.P. headquarters.

Being involved in groundbreaking government research came with its perks, Minx supposed.

Schlatt nudged her gently and gave her a lopsided smile. "I wouldn’t leave you to fend for yourself, Minxy. Shitty food tastes worse when the company's just as bad, you know," he said as he stabbed a charred piece of bacon with his fork. The brittle meat crumbled on his plate.

"So, what, you want us both to die of fuckin food poisonin' before I even get to apologize?" She rolled her eyes.

"If it means Selwyn'll stop looking at me like I shat in his cereal every day then maybe. I still need his folks to put a roof over my head." Schlatt chuckled.

"Ugh," Minx groaned, rubbing her temples. "He's been a pain in my _arse_ since the break up. Bloody freckled freak won’t let me come within six feet of George. You'd think I was carryin some sorta fuckin plague!"

"If we continue eating here, you will be," he replied, pushing his plate away. "Seriously, my stomach became all delicate from that fancy shmancy edible food. No wonder all those older fuck-muching snakes act all snotty, their small intestines’ve probably been backed up for years!” he exclaimed. “I feel like the food’s _got_ to have gotten worse. It wasn't _this_ bad before we left, was it?”

"Schlatt, for fucks sake, can we get back to the bigger problem? I couldn't give less of a shit about the food!" she spat, slamming her fist on the table in frustration.

"Really? Because I'm shittin just by _looking_ at it."

Minx groaned at the awful joke. " _Merlin's balls,_ how am I supposed to fix this?" She huffed, burying her face in her hands.

"The food? I don't think anyone can fix it,” Schlatt snorted. “The breakup? Well…. I say give it a few more days."

"A few _days_?!" she spluttered, looking up at Schlatt incredulously. "What’s the point of letting us both feel like fuckin garbage for a few days when one apology could probably put an end to this shit sooner? Are ye sayin I should just do _nothing?_ "

"Not _nothing_ ," Schlatt rolled his eyes. "Women are so fucking dramatic. Relax, sweetheart, I'm not having you back out of the advice I gave ya. I'm a genius, I don't go back on my word. Apologizing is _definitely_ the right call here. I'm just sayin that maybe the whole 'as soon as possible' route isn't gonna work with lil' Gogi." He shrugged.

Minx crossed her arms indignantly. "And why the fuck not?” she demanded. “Won't we both feel better if I fuckin apologize now and have it be over with? I'm tired of being the arsehole, here, Schlatt.”

"You're not an asshole—"

"You're the only one who fuckin _knows that_!" she cried. "Half of our House is complimenting me on my arseholery.”

“Come on, Minx, we both know _those_ snakes are the real assholes. Since when do you care what assholes think of you?”

“I don’t, but you know who else is an asshole? Selwyn. The fucker needs to stop actin like he owns George! The guy can make his own fuckin decisions, he's his own person, if he doesn't want to talk to me then he can _fuckin tell me!_ But so far, all it looks like is that _Clay_ doesn't want me around. And I'm not here for him."

Schlatt hummed thoughtfully at that, resting his head in his hands as he contemplated her words. "Well, maybe you should tell him that,” he finally answered.

"I've been fuckin _tryin_ to tell George for a goddamn—!"

"No, not George. Fuck George. Listen for a second," he said, waving his hand dismissively, "Tell _Selwyn_ that he's actin like your ex is a toddler— which, for the record, he basically is, but whatever— and that he should back off and let you two work through your relationship drama by yourselves."

Minx gritted her teeth. She didn't want to talk to Selwyn. She didn't want to see him at _all_. Out of everyone, out of _all of them_ , he had no right to treat her like rubbish. Everyone else was perfectly justified in thinking her a bitch, but _he…_

She took a deep breath in. No, she didn’t want to talk to Selwyn. But she wasn’t a pussy. She wasn’t scared to confront George’s hypocrite of a bodyguard.

She exhaled through her nose and shot Schlatt a look. "Alright, that’s actually not a shite idea. You're kind of a fuckin genius."

"I know." Schlatt nodded.

The rest of the day dragged on as Minx was forced to endure dirty looks in every single one of her classes. With every glare thrown her way, her irritation grew. By the end of the day she was nearly shaking with suppressed anger, ready to give Selwyn a piece of her mind.

She decided to confront him in the common room after dinner. Luckily, she didn't need to wait very long for him to arrive. Selwyn strolled into the dungeon and took a seat on one of the armchairs by the fireplace, withdrawing a random book from his bag and flipping idly through its pages like he wasn't ruining her fucking life.

Minx took a deep breath and pounced.

"Oi, arsehole! Get up." She spat, stomping over to him and slapping the book out of his hand in one fluid motion. Selwyn’s expression went from confused to annoyed in the span of seconds. He huffed angrily before leaning over to pick his book up off the floor.

"What's your problem?" He questioned indignantly, eyeing her with distaste. Minx tensed at the tone of his voice and balled her hands into fists by her sides.

"Oh, I've got a fuckin _few_ of them at the moment, but you’re the biggest one."

Selwyn rolled his eyes at her. "What, you're mad because you can't call George _slurs_ anymore? Well, sorry to rain on your racist parade—"

Minx didn’t let him finish his condescending spiel. "Don't you fuckin dare start with me, Selwyn." She hissed, jabbing a finger at his chest.

"Ooh, busting out my last name, I'm shaking." He shivered dramatically before rising to his feet. He was only a few inches taller than her, but the height clearly made him feel more confident. "What are you gonna do? You wanna call _me_ a slur, too?"

Minx was glaring at him so hard that her eyes were starting to hurt. She had a very low tolerance level for hypocrisy, and Dream’s high and mighty tone was quickly testing the limits of her patience.

"At least all _I_ did was just say some words," she growled, icy blue eyes burning into Selwyn’s furiously.

The boy took a step back and scoffed. "Wh-what the fuck are you talking about?!" He exclaimed, " _Just_ said some words? Do you know what _words_ can do, Minx?!"

"Of fucking _course_ I know what words can do, you moron! I don't need a fuckin reminder!" She screeched, her fingernails cutting tiny crescents into her palms as she clenched her fists. Time to go feral. "But the damage from _words_ can heal, Selwyn. At least I'm _honest_ about the shite I do. At least I _know_ I was in the wrong. But watchin you play into this whole Archnemisis Dad trope is making me sick. You’re worse than me, Selwyn, but you won't even fuckin admit it."

She watched as the words settled over the other Slytherin like a particularly gross, thick blanket.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he whispered.

"You fuckin bet your arse I know what I'm talkin about. You're a _hypocrite_. You claim yer trying to protect George, and yet—"

“Shut your fucking mouth, Minx,” Dream warned, eyes narrowing into slits. “Shut your fucking mouth right now unless you want me to do it for you.”

Minx smirked. Selwyn was getting defensive; her words were working.

“How are things in Caerphilly, Dream?” she asked him mockingly. “Schlatt says ye’ve been very enthusiastic about the research. _Personally_ assisting in the labs, if I remember correctly. I wonder how George would feel about that.”

Dream’s face went red with anger. His fingers flexed around his wand, but Minx wasn’t scared. She knew he was too much of a pussy to hex her with prefects around.

"Stop fucking pretending like you know anything!" he yelled, baring his teeth at her like a rabid animal.

“Careful, Dream,” Minx murmured, her eyes glinting. “Your daddy issues are showing.”

The boy raised a clenched fist and for a moment, it looked as if he was going to deck her in the face. Minx braced herself for impact, turning her head slightly to the side. Upon seeing this, Dream exhaled loudly and took a step back from her.

“You’re a bitch,” he spat before turning in the direction of the boys’ dorms and pushing past a few mildly concerned Housemates. When he reached his room, he slammed the door. The noise echoed off the dungeon walls.

Minx went to sleep that night hoping she’d made Selwyn see some sense. When she woke up the following morning and headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast, however, Dream saw her coming and whispered something into George’s ear which made the Ravenclaw boy scowl. The two of them quickly wrapped up their breakfast and exited the Great Hall together without sparing her a second glance.

Minx scowled and resigned herself to another shoddy breakfast.

It appeared that Selwyn was still a fucking hypocrite.

Like father, like son, she supposed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As spring break drew closer, George found himself facing a problem he’d never faced before: he _really_ didn’t want to do his homework.

Well, that was a bit of an overstatement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do _any_ of his homework; on the contrary, he was finding most of his third-year subject material quite interesting. His grades were excellent. The only assignments giving him trouble were the ones assigned to him in M&M.

“Honestly, George, it’s not that hard,” Dream said to him one day in the library. “Borealis is only asking us for ten inches of parchment. That’s, like, nothing.”

George exhaled and rubbed his temples in frustration. Dream meant well, but he just didn’t understand what was so hard for George about their latest assigned essay.

“I know,” the Ravenclaw sighed. “I just...can’t write it.”

“You need help? I can let you see what I wrote,” Dream offered. “Only if you want, though.”

George forced a smile and politely declined his friend’s offer. Dream shrugged and went back to reading their Potions textbook, leaving George to purse his lips and stare down at his blank parchment with his pen clutched tightly in his hand.

He was glad to be on good terms with Dream again; they’d both apologized to each other the morning after George’s breakdown in Ravenclaw Tower. George had promised not to keep any more secrets, and Dream had promised to be more open with George about what was bothering him. For the most part, they were back to normal.

That being said, there was something keeping George from trying to articulate to Dream why he found their M&M homework so disturbing.

He read over the prompt for the hundredth time. _Please respond to the following question (approx. ten inches of parchment): Why is an awareness of ancestral magibiological differences important? You may refer to the table on page 32 of your textbook while formulating your response._

The table in question was a blood type chart like the ones often found in Muggle secondary school biology textbooks. Unlike Muggle textbooks, however, _New Theories of Magicology and Magibiology: Volume 1_ described so-called _magica sanguine_ types and labelled them with an array of confusing symbols.

“Quit doing homework, you nerds,” a familiar voice said over George’s shoulder.

Dream rolled his eyes at Sapnap as the young Gryffindor boy pulled up a chair to sit at their table. “It’s not ‘nerdy’ to _not_ want to fail your classes, you know.”

“Sounds like something a nerd would say,” Sapnap answered, leaning over to read the title of George’s textbook. “Magicology? Gross.”

“Gross is an understatement,” George mumbled.

“Unlike you second-year children, we third-years have actual hard work to do. Go bother someone else,” Dream said.

“Um, we’re the same age, you know,” Sapnap reminded them with a huff. “You were at my birthday party a few weeks ago, dumbass. I’m a teenager, too.”

“Barely,” Dream muttered.

“Anyway,” the Gryffindor continued, turning to George. “I came to talk to _you,_ Gogi.”

George raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

“Well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking—”

He was interrupted by Dream snorting. “Hear that, George?” the Slytherin chuckled. “He said he’s been _thinking!_ That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard!”

Sapnap scowled. “Oh, _wow_ , Dream, you’re actually a comedy genius.”

“Ha! Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you need a brain to think, Sapnap?”

“Why, no, actually, but people must tell _you_ that all the time.”

Dream tutted and shook his head. “You know what they say about Gryffindors, all brawn and no brains.”

“You just called me hot, you idiot.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Brawny literally means muscly, so you just complimented me.”

“That’s not what that word means. Hey, George, what does brawn—”

“Sapnap, can you just get on with it and tell me whatever you wanted to tell me?” George said exasperatedly. Sapnap stuck his tongue out at Dream one final time before composing himself again.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, “so I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I owe you an apology.”

“You do?” George asked, surprised. Sapnap nodded.

“Yeah, I do. I feel really bad about the whole Minx thing. It was all my fault.”

Dream coughed out something that sounded suspiciously like _no shit._

“So _anyway,_ ” Sapnap continued, “I came to say sorry for pushing your boundaries and peer pressuring you into asking out a girl you never liked in the first place.”

George smiled, heart warming at the Gryffindor’s words. “Thanks, Sapnap,” he said. “That’s actually really mature of you to say.”

“Of course, dude. I should’ve apologized sooner,” Sapnap replied with a smile. “Anyway, I’m happy to report that I’ve thought of _just_ the way to make it up to you.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been doing some research, and it turns out there’s this _super_ pretty Hufflepuff girl named Maia who has a huge crush on you! You’ll never believe—”

George abruptly stood up from the desk and gathered his things. Sapnap broke off and shot him a puzzled look.

“George? Where are you going, buddy?”

Without even responding, George shoved his textbooks into his bag and walked away. Before he went out of earshot, he heard a _thump_ from behind him followed by a groan of pain.

“You’re _such_ an idiot,” he heard Dream say to Sapnap right before he left the library.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soon enough, April rolled around, bringing with it spring break and a welcome reprieve from academics. Dream was among the first students to jump from his desk the minute class let out on the last day of school, throwing his hands in the air and celebrating his newfound freedom. The professors didn’t even take house points from him for running in the halls; they, too, must have been relieved to finally have two weeks off.

“George!” he called out to his best friend who was exiting the classroom like a boring person. “C’mon, George! We’re free!”

The Ravenclaw rolled his eyes fondly as he approached.

“It’s only two weeks, you know,” he reminded Dream, ever the party pooper. “Plus, I thought you hate having to spend breaks with your dad.”

Dream shrugged, refusing to let things as foolish as logic and reason dampen his mood. “Anything’s better than two more weeks of Arithmancy,” he replied. “Professor Vector can never _not_ make me want to fall asleep.”

“Hey. I like Arithmancy.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz you’re a Ravenclaw _nerd._ ”

George huffed but didn’t reply with a snarky comment like he usually did. Dream’s smile faltered.

“Did you hear me?” Dream asked, nudging George in the ribs lightly with his elbow. “I called you a nerd.”

Instead of trying to get the last word in, George shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I can be.”

Dream’s shoulders drooped ever so slightly as George took several more steps down the hall. After a while, he turned around and shot Dream a questioning look.

“Are you coming to the courtyard?” he asked. “Sapnap said he wanted to play Gobstones after school.”

Dream gulped and nodded, quickly sprinting to George’s side again. They walked through the corridors in silence. It occurred to Dream, then, what was going on: George was being careful with him.

Although on the surface everything had gone back to normal, it was still glaringly obvious to Dream that something had shifted after George’s breakup. Their jokes were milder, their time together often filling with awkward silences that made Dream want to tear his own hair out. It was as if both of them were treading on thin ice and one wrong word would send them both plunging into freezing water.

Dream wished he could fix it, but he hadn’t the faintest idea where to start.

 _Schlatt says ye’ve been very enthusiastic about the research,_ Minx’s voice flooded his thoughts. _I wonder what George would think about that._

He quickly shook his head to clear it and glanced at George out of the corner of his eye. Minx didn’t know shit. George _knew_ about Caerphilly already; Dream had told him months ago. It wasn’t like he was _hiding_ anything from his friend.

_You're a hypocrite._

Dream spotted Sapnap near the courtyard gates and quickly jogged over to the younger Gryffindor.

“Hey,” he greeted Sapnap. “How was your last class?”

“Ew, shut up. I’m on break, dude. I’m not talking about school right now,” he told Dream with a smile. “Did you bring your set?”

Dream pulled a box out of his robe pocket, opening it to reveal thirty round gobstones of various colors inside. George caught up to them at that moment and pulled a few stones of his own out of his pocket.

“Sweet!” Sapnap exclaimed, eyeing the stones in George’s hand appreciatively. “You’ve got a bronze one. That’s gonna look good in my collection.”

“What makes you think I’m going to lose them to _you?”_ George huffed. “My gobstones are going to knock yours all the way back to London.”

“Sure, dude,” Sapnap said with a roll of his eyes. “We all know the only reason you own any gobstones in the first place is because Dream loses to you on purpose.”

“I do _not,”_ Dream muttered, crossing his arms. “I’m a Slytherin. We don’t lose.”

“Uh-huh. Hey, do you guys mind if Karl plays with us? He’s borrowing a set from Bad, I think.”

Dream and George both shrugged. A few minutes later, the Hufflepuff boy joined them in the courtyard and they all took seats around the Gobstones board.

They played four rounds. Karl, unsurprisingly, lost all of his gobstones to Sapnap in round one, much to Bad’s chagrin. Thankfully, Sapnap didn’t actually make the Hufflepuff boy concede all his stones; the Gryffindor only kept one as a token of his victory.

Dream groaned when George _also_ lost all of his stones to Sapnap, but then rejoiced when he was able to win most of them back during the following rounds. In the end, they all wound up with pretty much the same number of gobstones that they started with, give or take a few.

It was fun to just hang out with his friends again. Even though he and George weren’t quite back to normal, Dream was optimistic that they’d get there soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It rained a lot in Caerphilly.

That was one thing Dream hated about the U.K. Everything was so gray, dull, and cold all the time. In Florida, the rain never lasted long and it was always chased away by the sun.

Florida rain was warm and inviting. British rain sucked the soul out of anyone unfortunate enough to be caught outside.

Not that Dream ever left the headquarters. His father kept him busy with a wide array of tasks throughout the day; by the time he made it home in the evenings, he was exhausted. So much for spring break.

Three days into his so-called vacation, Selwyn Sr. found him watching a few of the newly-caught magical creatures on his break. Several Ministry officials had recently returned from a trip to Hawaii, bringing with them several creatures that were native to the islands. The ones Dream was observing were a group of lava-dwelling fish-like things with whiskers that came out the sides of their heads.

“Clay,” his dad called out to him, prying his attention away from the creatures. “Please don’t scare the baby striders. They’re hypothermic as is.”

Dream squinted into their little glass enclosure again. This time, he noticed that the little creatures were shivering. “Can’t you make it warmer in there?” he asked.

His dad shook his head. “Their natural habitats are volcanoes. We’ll never be able to make it _that_ hot, I’m afraid.”

“Oh. Poor little guys.”

“Mmm, indeed,” his father replied absently, noting something down on a clipboard. “I need you to give these sample reports to Gwydion. He should be in one of the observation rooms, I believe.” He handed Dream a scroll of parchment bound with a single red ribbon.

“I thought the observation rooms were restricted,” Dream remarked, puzzled. His father shot him an unimpressed look.

“You’re thirteen, are you not? I trust you can handle a simple delivery task without catastrophically impacting research.”

Dream nodded somewhat sheepishly and hastily made his way down the hall towards the observation rooms, squeezing past countless witches and wizards in white lab robes as he passed. The W.A.P. was a large-scale operation now; the corridors were always bustling with activity, making it a lot harder to navigate the building. When he finally reached the doors to the observation rooms, he paused, trying to figure out which one his dad’s colleague would be in.

He decided he’d poke his head in all of them. It wasn’t like he’d get in trouble for it; the large _RESTRICTED: DO NOT ENTER_ signs were intimidating, sure, but he had _permission._ Plus, he was a Selwyn. People around here didn’t say no to Selwyns.

So, after knocking several times on the door to the first room and hearing no reply, he opened the door.

The first thing he noticed about the room was that it was dark. He blinked his eyes several times, closing the door behind him and waiting for his pupils to adjust to the lack of light. Eventually, he was able to make out distinct shapes lining the walls.

“ _Lumos,_ ” he muttered, causing a small light to emit from his wand tip. He wasn’t _technically_ allowed to perform magic outside of school until he turned seventeen, but he knew that the Ministry’s Trace system wouldn’t be able to pick him up in a place surrounded by so many wizards. What was the harm in bending the rules a bit?

The small white light gently illuminated his immediate surroundings. There were a few desks and chairs pushed into corners, loose papers and quills scattered here and there. The room was clearly empty, but curiosity prevented Dream from leaving just yet. He didn’t know when he’d get another chance to explore the W.A.P.’s more restricted areas, so he wanted to seize the opportunity while he could.

He took a few more steps into the room, craning his neck around to get a better look at the interior. One of the room’s walls was made of thick glass that opened up to an observation chamber where subjects could be remotely observed and studied. As Dream walked closer to the glass, he noted with disappointment that there didn’t seem to be anything on the other side.

 _This room isn’t in use, then,_ he thought to himself. He knew that Gwydion was studying some new creatures brought back from South America called _blazes_ or something. From what he’d heard, those particular mobs could breathe fire like dragons and fly without wings. Clearly there were no such creatures in this dark, empty observation room.

Dream shrugged to himself and resolved to go to the next room. However, just as he placed his hand on the door handle and prepared to leave, he heard an unmistakably human sound come from somewhere behind him.

A cough.

His heart began to beat erratically in his chest. Someone was in the room with him.

When Dream turned back around, he saw two mismatched glowing eyes staring back at him from behind the glass barrier.

Somewhat ironically, Dream was too scared to scream.

The eyes belonged to a person — a creature? — whose face was two different colors. One side of its face was white while the other was charcoal black. Its expression was unreadable as its green and red eyes stared Dream down from across the room. Finally, the creature opened its mouth to speak.

“Who are you?” it spoke in a remarkably human voice. “Are you here to inject me again?”

Not trusting himself to speak, Dream shook his head. The creature appeared relieved.

“Oh, okay,” it said, tilting its head as it spoke. “Is it lunch time, yet?”

Dream shrugged.

“Are you scared of me?”

Dream was taken aback by the bluntness of the question. “No,” he lied, hoping the creature wouldn’t see through his bluff.

“You’re standing all the way over there.”

The blond took several steps closer to the glass and crossed his arms. “Not anymore.”

“You shouldn’t be scared of me, you know. You’re a wizard,” the thing said, gesturing to Dream’s wand with one arm. “People like me can’t do anything to wizards.”

Hesitantly, Dream lifted his wand closer to the creature’s face. “You’re a person?”

“I think so. To be honest, though, my memory’s gotten really bad. I don’t even remember how I got here,” the supposed person said, shrugging. “Hey, where am I again?”

“Caerphilly.”

“I don’t know where that is.”

“What’s your name?”

The person on the other side of the glass blinked his red and green eyes several times before shrugging his shoulders. Dream’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“You don’t know your own name?” he asked.

“Nope. I—” the person cut off as his body suddenly began to convulse violently. Alarmed, Dream pressed his hand against the glass uselessly, wondering if he should call for help. Before he could, however, there was a distorted _vwoop_ sound and the person disappeared in a burst of glowing purple particles only to reappear instantly several feet away, looking quite dazed.

Dream’s jaw dropped. “Did you just apparate?” he questioned. “I thought you said you weren’t a wizard!”

“I’m not,” the person answered, letting out a painful sounding cough. “That’s just a thing that happens to me sometimes.”

As his brain attempted to process what had just happened, his eyes landed on a bundle of documents stacked neatly on one of the desks by the wall. They had the word _CLASSIFIED_ stamped in red across the front, which meant that Dream was totally going to look through them.

Well aware that he couldn’t just _steal_ the documents, Dream reached into his pocket and pulled out his digital camera. Carefully so as not to bend any of the pages, the blond took several quick photos before placing the bundle back where it had been on the table.

“Hey, uh, I gotta go,” he said to the person on the other side of the glass, "I'll… see you around?"

The person shrugged, "I don't really think I'd remember anyways," he chuckled, "goodbye."

Dream found Gwydion in the very next observation room he checked. The researcher grumbled something about Dream taking too long but accepted the sample reports without any questions, something for which Dream was very thankful. He found his dad in the potion room discussing ingredients with a fellow alchemist.

“Ah, yes, that could be a great alternative to fermented tarantula eyes. I look forward to reviewing your results,” he said to the woman before turning around to face his son. “Yes, Clay?”

“I delivered the sample reports.”

Selwyn Sr. raised an eyebrow. “Well, yes, I should hope so. I told you to deliver them half an hour ago.”

Dream shrugged sheepishly and twisted his hands behind his back. “Can I go home yet?” he asked. “I’m hungry.”

His dad sighed and waved his hand dismissively. “You teenagers and your ravenous appetites. Alright, I suppose you may leave. Please do not use too much Floo powder on your way out. You have a bad habit of tossing in twice the amount you require to travel, Son, and I’ll have you know—”

“ _I got it,_ Dad. I’ll only take a handful,” Dream promised, skipping away before his father could change his mind about letting him go home. The second Dream stepped out of his fireplace back at the Selwyn residence, he bolted upstairs to his bedroom and locked the door behind him.

He squinted down at his digital camera’s display screen, fumbling with the buttons until he could zoom in on the text.

“How do Muggles put up with this crap?” he grumbled to himself as he struggled with the piece of technology. After several minutes of trying, he was finally able to make the on-screen text large enough for human eyes to read.

_Enderman Study № 3_

_Subject #00029 — Randolph M. Boo_

_Species: Human Male (Squib), aged 11 years_

_Day 1 Notes: Subject injected with 10ml of harvested Enderman blood (Type X). Immediate inflammation at the site of injection. Intense headaches reported by subject._

Dream’s eyes widened in realization as he processed the implications of what he was reading. The person in the observation room — Randolph Boo, apparently — was a human, after all.

He skipped to the next page of the document.

_Day 6 Notes: Subject reports frequent discomfort and memory loss. Daily injections continue to be administered. Subject shows discoloration of eyes and face. No signs of magic._

He pressed a button on the camera and flipped to the next photo.

_Day 13 Notes: Subject displays some signs of involuntary magic, namely spontaneous, short-distance apparation. Subject no longer remembers own name. Hair shows signs of discoloration._

_Day 18 Notes: Subject has deteriorated drastically. No signs of controllable magic. Termination recommended._

Dream put the camera down, feeling sick to his stomach.

_What. The. Fuck._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream did his best to avoid going to W.A.P. headquarters after his discovery. He feigned all manner of illnesses and urgent homework assignments to avoid the daily trips with his father, who, thankfully, was much too busy with work to scrutinize each and every one of his son’s excuses, though he did comment on how absurd it was for Hogwarts professors to assign homework over the break.

Dream spent his newfound free time hanging out with George — or trying to, anyway. George was still taking on odd babysitting jobs for several Muggle families in the neighborhood, which meant that he was often busy at the exact moments in which Dream wanted to spend time with him.

That being said, they did make a conscious effort to see each other every day. George found time in between mowing lawns and watching toddlers to sneak in ten-minute conversations here and there. Dream found himself waiting all day for those moments when he could have George’s attention all to himself.

The arrangement wasn’t ideal, but it worked. They were both trying. Dream supposed that was all that really mattered.

It would have been better if the niggling voices in his head shut up.

 _You’re a hypocrite. You’re lying to him,_ a part of him would say.

 _I’m not lying to him. He knows I go to the lab,_ he would argue right back.

 _He doesn’t know about Randolph. How would he feel if he knew about_ him?

Curse his own brain. Arguments with himself never went well; his two warring sides were always evenly matched, each knowing just what points to bring up to shut the other down.

 _I barely get to spend time with him as is,_ Dream reasoned desperately. _I can’t bring that stuff up. We_ just _started talking normally again._

_You’re selfish._

And Dream couldn’t exactly argue with himself on that one. When it came to George, he _was_ selfish.

His selfishness was what kept him from coming clean a week and a half into the break when he and George were both sitting on their tree stump, tracing lines into the dirt with the tips of their shoes. They were finally enjoying a day off together, no W.A.P. or chores or anything. The gentle sounds of the surrounding forest created the ideal situation for Dream to pull out his digital camera and show George the evidence of what he’d found in Caerphilly. It would be so easy, Dream knew, to let the words tumble from his lips and the weight to lift from his chest.

But even though he knew it was the right thing to do, he couldn’t do it.

Perhaps it was the Slytherin in him telling him to cherish George’s attention while he had the chance, to preserve the pleasant atmosphere for as long as he could. Perhaps it was just the fact that his sense of right and wrong became a bit muddled where George was concerned.

Perhaps he was a hypocrite, just as Minx had said.

“And oh my _gosh,_ Dream, did this child remind me of you,” George said with a laugh, recounting one of his earlier babysitting experiences. “He tried to manipulate me into giving him sweets before dinner. You should have seen him. He _actually_ used the phrase ‘it would be in your best interest to give me a lolly.’ He’s _three years old!”_

“Pffft. Weak. I bet I could have convinced you better than that.”

George snorted. When he turned to look at Dream, his brown eyes were sparkling with mirth. “Oh, really? What would you have said, then?”

“Well, for starters, I would’ve—”

To Dream’s utter annoyance, he was interrupted by a loud squawk and the unmistakable flurry of wings behind him. For once in his life, he envied the orderly way Muggles sent each other mail. Manual delivery of envelopes and packages was slow and boring, but at least the mail carriers didn’t screech and poop everywhere.

George’s brows furrowed in confusion before his expression morphed into a scowl at the sight of the bird perched on a neighboring stump.

“Not this again,” he muttered, reaching out and snatching something from the owl’s talons.

Dream tilted his head in question. “You’ve been getting mail?”

“Yeah,” George grumbled, not even pausing to read the letter before tearing it into bits.

“Woah,” Dream said, surprised. “I’ve never seen you do that to a letter before. Who the heck is writing to you?”

George didn’t reply. Instead, he turned to the bird and shot it a menacing glare. “Listen, you stupid bird, I want you to tell her I have no desire to hear from her. I better not see you ‘round here again.”

Dream raised an eyebrow and squinted at the owl in question. It was small in stature, its feathers brown and covered in spots. It was quite ordinary at first glance, but Dream couldn’t help but feel like he’d seen its wide, unblinking black eyes before.

“Whose owl is that?” he asked.

George looked at him like he was stupid. “Whose do you think? It’s Minx’s. Or at least it delivers all of her letters.”

The thought of Minx sending George mail over the break made something in Dream’s stomach twist uncomfortably. “Have you been ignoring her?”

“Of course. After what you told me, I realized her stupid letters aren’t even worth the energy of reading her ugly handwriting.”

The knot eased. _“Hey._ On behalf of all those with ugly handwriting, I take offense.”

George snickered and proceeded to shoo the owl away. It took a long look at Dream before finally returning to the skies empty-taloned. Dream was glad to watch it go, but something about its stare unsettled him.

The owl was familiar. Dream just wished he had the faintest idea why.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upon returning to Hogwarts after spring break, the students were thrust right back into the familiar end of the year grind.

On the one hand, George hated the copious amounts of homework and increased academic rigor. On the other hand, his mind-numbing study routine made it much easier to forget about all of the drama that surrounded him at school. The gossipy groups that used to whisper about him in the hallways were too preoccupied with their studies to pay him much attention anymore.

Avoiding Minx also became a lot easier after spring break. Exam preparation gave George the perfect excuse to hole himself up in his common room every night with his textbooks. Sometimes when he was feeling burnt out Wilbur would come sit with him by the fireplace and hum a song he spontaneously composed.

“That’s a lovely tune,” George commented one evening in May as he, Wilbur, and Eret sat together by the fireplace. Wilbur smiled softly at the praise.

“Thanks, mate,” said warmly. “I’ve been singing to myself a lot more lately. Probably because of stress.”

Eret snorted. “Trust me, Wil, we know. The whole castle knows your shower schedule by heart.”

“Hey,” Wilbur answered, “the acoustics in the washroom are bloody fantastic, I’ll have you know.”

After the three boys shared a laugh, George prodded his curly haired roommate with his pen.

“You’re actually really musically talented,” he told him kindly. “Have you considered writing your own songs?”

Wilbur looked puzzled by the question. “What d’you mean? I spend all day writing songs.”

George raised an eyebrow. “You do?”

“Yeah. Look,” Wilbur said, pulling a spiral notebook from his book bag. He passed it to George, who flipped it open curiously.

“Wow.” George eyed the pages and pages of scribbled material. Wilbur hadn’t been joking; nearly every piece of lined paper was covered in multicolored ink. As he read one of the pages more closely, he furrowed his brow in thought. “These just look like poems, though.”

“That’s what a song _is,_ Gogi,” Wilbur said humorously, snatching the notebook back. “It’s poetry set to music.”

“But how do you remember the melodies?”

Wil’s smile froze on his face. He glanced down at his writing again before shrugging his shoulders somewhat halfheartedly. “I...guess I just hope I’ll remember them later?”

Eret leaned forward, then, and pointed to something in his Charms textbook. “In Year Five we’ll learn the _Melodium_ charm, which can bind sound to parchment. If I ask Flitwick nicely, he’ll probably teach it to us next year!”

Wilbur’s eyes lit up. “That would be amazing!”

George couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Wait, have you two never learned about musical notation?”

His roommates paused and looked at George questioningly. “What’s that?” they asked in unison.

“Oh my _god,_ you actually don’t know. Hold on,” George tore a scrap of paper out of his Potions notebook and hastily drew the five lines he’d been forced to memorize for his piano lessons as a child.

“Is this a spell?” Eret wondered.

“No. Look,” George replied, pointing to the bottommost line. “This is the _E_ line. If you put a dot here, it tells you that the note is an _E._ Then as you go up, the notes get higher—”

“What’s an _E?”_

George groaned. “What is _wrong_ with the wizarding world? Okay, so there are seven different letter notes…”

The three boys stayed by the fireplace long after curfew. By the time Philza kicked them out of the common room and forced them to go to sleep, Wilbur had already resolved to purchase every Muggle book on music theory he could get his hands on once the summer holidays arrived.

George smiled at his roommate’s enthusiasm. He knew that once Wilbur was given the right set of tools, he’d be unstoppable.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


Wilbur thought he had a good idea of what a Hogwarts graduation ceremony looked like.

In between asking George questions about musical theory and studying for the exams he’d only just sat a week prior, he’d forgotten that one of his dearest friends would indeed shortly be leaving school. The thought of Phil, his beloved prefect, Head Boy, and surrogate older brother leaving him made his heart twist a bit in his chest.

Time really did fly, he realized. It felt like just yesterday that Philza had welcomed him to Ravenclaw after his sorting ceremony. Three years had gone by in a happy blur. The school year would be over in mere days and Wilbur didn’t feel like he’d had _nearly_ enough time with the older Ravenclaw.

When Techno told him that they were going to infiltrate the graduation ceremony, going directly against school policy of 'no unaffiliated students allowed' to see Philza off, his imagination had instantly gotten the better of him. For the entire week leading up to the graduation, he daydreamed about how extravagant the celebration would be, what food would be served, what decorations would be hung and what feats of magic would be performed to showcase the skills of the graduating class. Wilbur pictured a lavish banquet, speeches that would bring even the most stoic of the Hogwarts staff to tears, and magical displays worthy of Merlin himself.

As soon as he entered the Great Hall on the day of graduation, however, his dreams were instantly crushed.

The room looked too _serious_. The atmosphere, in Wilbur’s opinion, was more akin to a prison send-off than a graduation from the most elite magical school in the world.

The tables had been cleared out of the way, replaced by rows of stiff-looking chairs presumably meant to seat everyone's relatives. There were a couple of benches pushed up to the front of the Hall where the graduates were intended to sit and wait to be called up for their wizarding diplomas. The only refreshments available were mugs of coffee, tea, and random pastries laid out on two long tables at the edges of the room.

"Techno, please tell me it gets better," Wilbur whispered, staring in horror at the sight before him.

"What're you talkin about, Will, this is fantastic!” Techno declared. “We got 'ere before all the families with kids, we're gonna get front row seats!" he exclaimed, grabbing Wil’s arm and pulling him hurriedly down the center aisle that separated the rows of chairs.

"Front row seats to _what_?” Wilbur asked incredulously. “Are you sure we didn't stumble across a funeral?"

Techno rolled his eyes. "Stop bein so dramatic. we know firsthand the Hogwarts loves celebrations," he said, flopping down into a chair in the first row. "It's gonna get better. Now stop forcin _me_ to be the optimist."

"Technoblade, an optimist? Never thought I’d see the day," Wilbur snickered, taking the seat beside him.

"I've said two words of encouragement and I'm already exhausted, I don't know how ya do it." Techno sighed, leaning back in his chair.

Wilbur turned around to look back at the front doors, watching as the guests slowly started trickling in. He realized, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that the procedure was probably going to take forever. Sighing, he resigned himself to observing the people who came through the doors.

"Oi, Techno, d'you reckon the lad who just walked in would be a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw?" Wilbur asked, elbowing the boy beside him and pointing towards a tall man with dreadlocks.

"Slytherin."

"You didn't even look up!" Wilbur huffed, rolling his eyes. "C'mon, we can't just do _nothing_ while we wait. Let’s people-watch!"

"I'm not doin nothin, I'm takin a nap."

Wilbur scowled at the response, wracking his brain for some other form of entertainment. Coming up blank, he decided to go the guilt trip route. "Well… if you're napping, you might miss Phil," he remarked casually.

Techno instantly straightened himself in his seat and shot Wilbur a glare. "That would never happen, and don't you dare imply it again," he warned. "And I was right, by the way, that guy's _definitely_ a Slytherin."

" _How_ do you always _know_ _?!_ "

"Well, I can't explain it if you can't see it for yourself."

The next half hour passed by similarly, their guess-the-House game growing more frantic as a massive influx of people came pouring into the Great Hall. By the time they were sure they had sorted every single guest, it was time for the ceremony to begin.

A group of students holding cushions with frogs sat atop them got into formation. Their conductor made sure each frog was present before clearing his throat and amplifying his voice.

"Please give a round of applause for this year's graduating class of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" He declared before turning back to face the frog choir.

As soon as the frogs began to croak an upbeat melody, the door to the side of the stage opened, allowing the graduates to file in one by one. Wilbur noted that it was the very same door through which students entered to be sorted in their first year.

He and Techno leaned forward eagerly, watching each seventh-year enter in silent anticipation. When Philza finally stepped onto the stage, Techno gripped Wilbur's arm so hard he could've sworn he heard his bone snap.

"Techno!" Wilbur hissed in pain, trying not to scream and cause a disturbance.

"I know, Wil! It's Philza Magic!" Techno whispered back. "There he is! It's a good thing we're here to help him carry all the awards he's gonna win!"

With the way Wilbur's arm was feeling, he wasn't quite sure he'd be able to contribute much to the award carrying effort. However, as soon as Phil's face disappeared from view, his arm was released, so there was still a chance he'd be able to recover in time.

After the last of the graduates were seated, Headmistress Mcgonagall took the stage and cleared her throat.

"Hello Graduates, Students, Alumni, Parents, and Friends,” she began, her amplified voice echoing clearly throughout the Hall. “It is with great joy that I welcome you to Hogwarts to share in the celebration of the unique qualities and accomplishments of this year’s graduating class.

“I sincerely believe that all of you, without exception, are destined for great things and I hope that your seven years at this institution have given you everything you need to succeed in your future pursuits. A Hogwarts education is a very fine thing to have. But it is not sufficient.”

Beside Wilbur, Techno muttered something under his breath. A few people began to whisper curiously about the Headmistress’ change in tone; she paused her speech, allowing the crowd to settle, before continuing.

“Our world is rapidly changing. Continuous innovation presents us with a host of unprecedented ethical quandaries that we must face. It will be up to you, the future of the wizarding world, to apply all that we’ve taught you and make the world a better place, whether that be as a professional quidditch player, magizoologist, or auror.”

Wilbur bit his lip. It was obvious to everyone what McGonagall was referencing.

“I have no doubt that I will be seeing your faces again soon, not as pupils, but as colleagues and friends. I could discuss each of you individually at length, but in the interest of brevity, I will end my speech here. We will now begin to distribute the diplomas to graduates.”

The two Ravenclaw roommates waited impatiently in their front row seats as the graduates were called to the stage one by one. When _An, Yoonseo_ was called up to the front, Wilbur realized, unhappily, that Philza’s surname meant he wouldn’t be called up for ages.

After what felt like hours into the ceremony, Techno nudged him gently as _Maheaux, Martin_ was called.

“We've been busted,” the pink haired boy muttered. When Wilbur shot him a questioning look, Techno nodded his head at someone to the left of the stage.

There, staring directly at the two Ravenclaw third-years, and looking quite annoyed, was Professor Slughorn. Wilbur watched as the Potions professor elbowed Professor Flitwick beside him, undoubtedly alerting the Head of House what two of his students were up to.

“ _Shit.”_

“I know,” Techno nodded solemnly. “We might have to bounce.”

“But Philza hasn’t even received his diploma yet!”

 _“Shhhh!”_ shushed someone’s mum. Wilbur shrank down in his chair and quieted his voice down to a whisper.

“I told you front row seats were a bad idea!”

“Maybe if youda stopped _groanin_ every five seconds—”

“Excuse me, boys,” murmured a voice from directly behind them. Techno and Wilbur exchanged an alarmed look before slowly turning their heads to face a ghostly Professor Binns who, thanks to his spectral status, had been able to phase through the floorboards directly beneath their feet.

“Hello, Professor,” Wilbur whispered, forcing a smile. “Lovely ceremony, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Mr. Wilson, though your Head of House has informed me that you were not invited,” the ghost replied in a bored voice. “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.”

Techno gulped and gave their History professor a pleading look. “Sir, we’ll go as soon as our friend, Phil, gets his diploma. Please just let us stay till then.”

“Sorry, Mr. Thegmo, but I am to escort you out. Please stand up.”

Wilbur glanced around nervously, noticing that they were starting to attract more stares. Even the Headmistress glanced briefly their way in between passing out diplomas.

“Please,” Wilbur said, “just let us—”

“ _AND GIVE IT UP FOR OUR HEAD BOY, PHILZA MAGIC!”_ Techno suddenly shouted, leaping up on his chair boldly. Wilbur lunged forward and grasped onto the piece of furniture as it began to wobble unstably beneath his friend's feet.

“ _Techno,_ what are you—”

“We’re gettin’ kicked outta here, folks, so we're gonna be doin this a little earlier than intended," Techno continued above the sounds of the crowd frantically whispering, “I jus’ wanna say that Phil Watson is by far the _best_ student this school has ever had! This place is gonna _suck_ without 'im!”

"Philza for Headmaster!" Wilbur shouted in support, realizing that this was the end regardless, so he may as well get something out.

“That’s quite enough,” Headmistress McGonagall snapped above the noise. “Argus, please escort those two out.”

Filch eagerly rubbed his hands together like a stereotypical villain and approached the boys hungrily. Wilbur held out a hand to help Techno down and prepared to be led away to detention, but a familiar voice caught his attention before he could leave the Hall.

“Thanks, Techno! Thanks, Wil! Graduation's gonna suck withoutcha!” Philza shouted with a grin, standing up from his place on the bench and waving to the two excitedly. “Love ya both, mates! Ya ain't seen th' last of me!”

Wilbur didn’t see the rest of the ceremony, but it didn’t matter.

Philza knew they cared. As far as Wil was concerned, that meant the mission was accomplished.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ugh,” Dream said to George, peeling off his black robes. “Why is it so hot?”

George laughed. It was their first week of summer vacation and one of George’s rare days off. The Ravenclaw boy’s mum had sent the two friends off to “go play outside and get some fresh air,” which meant that the boys were forced to huddle under the tree in George’s backyard for shade. Dream’s wizarding attire wasn’t suited for the heat, and George seemed to take great pleasure in the way the blond whined and complained about the sun.

“I thought you were Floridian,” George snickered. “Isn’t it much hotter there?”

“England has ruined me, what can I say.” Dream sighed in relief once his outer layer was off, leaving him only in a pair of loose black pants. When he glanced at George, he saw the other boy was blushing.

“Why aren’t you wearing anything?” George huffed, averting his eyes.

Dream chuckled. “I’m wearing pants.”

“Well I sure _hope_ you’re wearing pants.”

“I meant pants as in _pants,_ not pants as in underwear.”

“Americans,” George muttered under his breath, still refusing to look at Dream’s shirtless chest. Dream wanted to tease his friend about it, but his dry and scratchy throat made him cough, instead.

“We can head inside, if you’d like,” the British boy offered. “Mum won’t mind. We have lemonade in the fridge.”

Dream gratefully accepted the offer and the two boys stood up and entered the house. Before Dream could walk into the kitchen, however, George put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Um, maybe you should just head up to my room. I’ll bring the drinks up,” he said, blushing.

“What? No, I can help.”

“Dream...you’re shirtless.”

Dream looked down at his bare chest, remembering that he’d abandoned his robes in the yard. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Just…” George blushed and ran a hand through his hair. “Just go upstairs. I’ll meet you.”

Dream took the stairs two at a time, only stopping when he was inside George’s room. While he waited for George to return with their drinks, Dream gazed absently at the various trinkets and books lining George’s shelves. He spotted the first chocolate frog card he’d given George for his eleventh birthday and smiled. _Sites of Historical Sorcery,_ another birthday present George had received from Dream, was open on the desk, its pages dog-eared from repeated readings.

He was just about to open George’s desk drawer and take a curious peek inside when a hooting noise stopped him.

He turned around and immediately locked eyes with a familiar spotted brown owl. The bird was perched atop George’s bedside table, a letter held in its beak. Its wide black eyes looked Dream up and down before it dropped the letter and began to nonchalantly preen its feathers.

Before Dream could shoo the darned creature away, George walked through his door, a sweating glass of lemonade clutched in each of his hands.

“We didn’t have any ice, so— _oh.”_

George set the glasses carefully on the desk and approached the owl with a scowl on his face.

“How did it get in here?” he asked Dream, eyes trained on the bird.

“I don’t know.”

“Was my window open?”

Dream glanced at the window before shaking his head. “Nope. It’s closed.”

“Hmmmph,” George humphed, crossing his arms and pointing an accusatory finger at the owl. “You were _not_ invited into my room. Take _this,”_ he said, picking up the envelope and waving it in front of the bird’s face for emphasis, “and return it to the sender. I _do not_ want to hear from her.”

The bird hooted indignantly and fluffed its little brown wings. George walked up to his window and opened it decisively, gesturing for the creature to leave.

“Go on,” he instructed. “Shoo.”

After a few more angry hoots, the owl picked up the envelope and took off through the open window. George immediately closed it after, double-checking to make sure that it was shut before slumping against the wall.

Dream stood frozen in the center of his best friend’s room, mind racing.

He knew what jealousy felt like. He’d felt it every single day for weeks when George and Minx had been “dating.” He’d resented the girl for stealing his best friend away from him so easily. Words could not describe the relief he’d felt when they’d finally broken up.

Yet, the feeling he got from seeing Minx’s owl continuing to deliver George apology letters wasn’t jealousy. It was something much darker, much more unsettling. It was like a mounting sense of dread, almost as if the owl itself was a bad omen of some sort. Seeing the bird perched in George’s bedroom without having been let in brought back unpleasant memories, almost as if—

He gasped and clapped a hand over his mouth, suddenly overcome with a sickening wave of déjà vu.

He knew where he’d seen the bird before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The puzzle pieces are starting to come together...
> 
> According to AO3 statistics...I actually don't know what percentage of readers leave kudos and comments. I'm not a math major. What I _do_ know, however, is that reading your comments gets me high. It's an addiction that I don't want to quit any time soon, so keep 'em coming! I appreciate every single one (like, really, I obsessively check my inbox after every chapter lmao, just ask grass).
> 
> I love you guys! See you next chapter!
> 
> Helpful links:
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> [grass' tumblr](extragrassydetails.tumblr.com)  
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> [grass' twitter](https://twitter.com/seedlessgrass)  
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	21. Chapter Twenty-One || Year Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their fourth year at Hogwarts is upon them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. Sorry it's been a while. It's been a rough two weeks with midterms and some sad personal stuff, so thanks for being patient. Wear your fucking masks outside during this global pandemic. People are dying. 
> 
> Phew now that the sad part is over—
> 
> WE GOT SOME FANART!
> 
> Thank you to Pikachic on Twitter for [this](https://twitter.com/ImPikachic/status/1363557657123168268) incredible fanart of Dream and poor lil' Randolph Boo. Check it out, it's epic!!!
> 
> Remember, if you make fanart inspired by this fic, TAG ME OR GRASS! Links to social media will be in the end notes ;)
> 
> That being said...enjoy the update! It's the longest one to date lol.

Memories assaulted his senses.

_Schlatt speaking to him, “Hey, Dreamy, looks like you got a visitor. How’d you get in here, little guy?”_

_There, perched on Dream’s headboard. A_ _small spotted brown owl with wide, unblinking black eyes. An envelope in its beak._

“...Dream?”

George’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Dream,” he said louder, brown eyes concerned behind his dorky white goggles. “What’s wrong?”

And that was when Dream realized he had a decision to make.

Option one: he could tell George everything. He could tell him about the owl, tell him about the boy behind the glass, tell him about the strange things going on in Caerphilly. George was smart; he’d probably be able to make sense of everything much more easily than Dream could.

Option two: he could put it off. He could just drink his glass of lemonade, sit with George in his room, and hang out like old times. He could just...not ruin the moment.

Option one was clearly the sensible choice.

Dream chose option two.

“Sorry,” he muttered, running a nervous hand through his dirty blond hair and taking a seat at the foot of George’s bed.

“What happened?” George asked, drumming his fingers on his desk. “We let the owl out and you gasped. Are you alright?”

Dream bit his lip and averted his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”

George didn’t buy it. The shorter boy picked up one of the lemonade glasses and extended it to Dream as an offering. Dream took it gratefully and downed the drink in several swallows.

“If you’re sure,” George said skeptically.

Guilt, nagging and unpleasant, tugged on Dream’s heart. Not wanting to be a _complete_ dick, he settled on a half truth, saying, “It’s my dad.”

George’s gaze softened the tiniest bit and he took a seat in his spinny blue desk chair. “Has he stopped being all nice to you?” he asked, referring to the sudden shift in Selwyn Sr.’s demeanor around Dream’s birthday the year before. Dream shook his head.

“No, it’s just…” Dream trailed off, wondering how much he could reveal to George without accidentally telling him everything. “I don’t like his work. It doesn’t seem...there’s something off about it.”

George hummed thoughtfully and took a sip of his drink. “I don’t like the W.A.P. one bit. But you know that.”

“Yeah. I do.”

A moment of silence passed between them in which Dream thought George was studying him.

“What brought on the dramatic gasp, though?” George pried. “Something about the owl?”

Dream swallowed and met George’s inquisitive gaze. “I remembered something,” he answered.

“Oh?”

Dream nodded. “Yeah.”

A beat.

“Well...would you like to talk about it?” George offered gently. He was so kind, so _understanding,_ and it made Dream want to kick himself for being such a coward.

_You don’t deserve his friendship._

Dream shrugged and looked off to the side. “Maybe later.”

George nodded. It was hard to miss the way his face momentarily fell. “Alright.”

It took a few minutes of sitting there together before the awkwardness of the interaction passed and they were back to talking about safer things. Things like quidditch and Arithmancy and Dream’s upcoming birthday. It was pleasant and predictable, but Dream knew that it was temporary.

Because George wouldn’t let it go. George would bring it up again, and Dream just hoped that their friendship would survive the fallout.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream checked his watch as he waited by the side of the road. _Five minutes past noon,_ he noted with a sigh.

It was the morning after his owl epiphany and he was on a mission. The mission entailed visiting a certain wizarding household in an entirely different country. Due to the fact that he didn’t know the household’s Floo status and didn’t know how to apparate yet, there was only one feasible way for him to travel two hundred sixty-odd miles on his own: the Knight bus.

Truthfully, he should have done more research before chucking a few snacks and his wand into a backpack and embarking on his adventure, but Dream had never had the patience for extensive reading. It was something George always teased him about.

Dream stuck out his hand in the air and hoped he’d understood the instructions correctly. From what he’d gathered, one was supposed to stand by the side of a road and just...wait.

No. That wasn’t quite right. There was something else he was supposed to do, he just couldn’t remember. Did he have to _wave_ his hand? Say some magic words? Jump up and down three times?

He groaned and cursed his own stupidity. For all he knew, the Knight bus only came at night.

He pulled out his wand from his bag surreptitiously and clutched it at his side. Even though he was technically prohibited from using it while school was not in session, he felt safer with the instrument in his hand.

“Um...Knight bus?” he called out hesitantly, fiddling with his backpack straps. The road remained empty. “I could use a ride,” he added for good measure.

Another minute passed. When he saw no approaching vehicles, Dream sighed and resigned himself to finding some other method of travel. He raised his wand-wielding arm to the air in a mock salute before turning on his heel.

He only made it three steps when he heard a loud, obnoxious honk behind him.

“What’re you doin, lad?” a voice called out to him. “Dontchya want a lift?”

Dream turned around and met the eyes of a very disheveled looking man in a ratty old conductor’s uniform. He held a wand in his left arm and the doors of a large triple-decker purple bus open with the other.

“Uh...yeah,” Dream answered dumbly.

“Then hurry up, will ya? We’re on a schedule!”

Once the words sank it, Dream wasted no time in hopping onboard. The conductor charged him eleven sickles without even asking for his destination and then left him to find his own seat somewhere in the back of the bus.

Dream’s eyes scanned the interior of the vehicle. He’d heard a lot about the infamous Knight bus, but no amount of reading could have prepared him for the utter chaos that was public transportation in the wizarding world. An array of mismatched furniture was scattered around the bottom deck with random pieces of luggage strewn here and there. None of the seats were bolted down, something Dream soon learned the hard way when the bus driver made a sharp left turn that knocked the young wizard’s chair right over.

“Are there no safety features on this thing?!” he yelled at no one in particular. As if to answer his question, the bus swerved again and sent an older woman flying through the air.

Time seemed to work differently on the bus. Dream spent what felt like an eternity being tossed around like a ragdoll, but when the conductor announced that they were approaching the outskirts of Dublin, Dream glanced at his watch and discovered that only an hour had passed.

He stood up on shaky legs and made his way to the front of the vehicle, a crumpled piece of paper clutched tightly in his hand. He offered it to the conductor who just eyed the thing with disdain.

“Whassat? Toilet roll?” he asked suspiciously.

“No, no,” Dream assured him, “it’s got the address written down. Here,” he said, uncrumpling the note and showing him the scribbled writing.

“Yer handwritin’ is shite,” the conductor remarked, “but I know where that is. We’ll be stoppin’ round there in five minutes.”

Dream thanked the conductor and tucked the paper back into his pocket. The bus continued to jolt from side to side, forcing him to cling to a metal pole for dear life. After several more moments of swerving, the vehicle came to an abrupt stop that had Dream’s stomach churning unpleasantly.

“Here we are!” the conductor announced. “Portmarnock, Ireland. Please exit promptly!”

Dream rubbed his head and eagerly made his way to the exit. Something occurred to him, though, as he stepped off the bus.

“Hey, isn’t Ireland, like, an island? How did we drive across the w—”

Before he could finish asking his question, the vehicle’s doors slammed in his face and the bus was gone.

Dream stood up a little straighter and glanced around.

The weather was overcast despite it being the middle of the day in midsummer. The Knight bus seemed to have dropped him off by the side of a quiet suburban road. There was a playground across the street where he could see a few Muggle children playing on a swing set, and he was reminded of similar summer days spent with George in the park before Hogwarts.

He glanced down at the piece of paper with the address he’d hurriedly copied off a letter in his father’s office.

_Minx Manor_

_103 Blackberry Rise_

_Portmarnock_

_County Dublin_

_Ireland_

As he looked around at the quaint suburban houses around him, Dream found himself wishing for one of those fancy Muggle cellphones George told him about. The one George used during the holidays had a woman inside it who could read out directions to any place in the world. Having a portable pocket map like that sure would have made Dream’s task a lot easier.

Alas, Dream settled on getting directions the old fashioned way: by asking a random stranger on the street.

Putting on his best lost little boy look, he cautiously crossed the road and walked up to one of the children on the playground. The little girl looked up at him curiously as he approached her.

“Um, excuse me,” he began, clearing his throat nervously, “do you know where one-oh-three Blackberry Rise is?”

The little girl blinked at him curiously several times, saying nothing. Dream shuffled his feet and tried again.

“It’s an address,” he said. “One-oh-three Blackberry Rise. My friend—”

“Why ye wearin' a dress?” the girl blurted.

Dream looked down at his attire, belatedly realizing that his casual green robes probably looked a bit strange to Muggles.

“It’s not a dress,” he mumbled, cheeks heating up.

“Looks loike a dress ter me. Ye American?” she asked him curiously.

“Half. Could you just tell me—”

“Yer 'av a weord accent.”

Dream huffed and crossed his arms. “ _You’re_ one to talk about weird accents, kid.”

Just then, an older woman came up to them and put a hand on the little girl’s shoulder protectively.

“Is dare a problem 'ere?” the woman asked Dream sternly. Dream put his hands up placatingly and took a step back.

“I just wanted directions,” he said, defensive. “I wanted to know where one-oh-three Blackberry Rise was, but then your kid called my accent weird.”

The woman’s stern expression morphed into one of confusion. “Thar's naw such tin' as one-oh-tree Blackberry Rise. De 'ouses on dat street only go up ter a hundred.”

Dream uncrumpled the piece of paper with the address on it once more, double-checking. He showed the scribbles to the little girl’s mom, who shook her head bewilderedly.

“Dare must be a mistake,” she said, pulling out a cellphone from her purse. “D’yer nade me ter rin’ anyone for yer?”

_Were these people even speaking English? And he thought Minx’s accent was bad…_

“No, thanks. I’ll manage,” he declined politely, turning around and crossing the street again. He could hear the little girl saying something about a _quare American fella_ as he walked away.

Sure enough, when Dream walked all the way down the street, he noticed that the numbers on the sides of the houses only went up to one hundred. After that the road ended, leaving only forest beyond that point.

_Well, shit._

He turned around and took a seat on the curb, contemplating his next move.

He could just take the Knight bus back home. He had more than enough money to afford the trip, but the prospect of having to immediately board that nightmare of a vehicle again made him want to vomit. Plus, he didn’t really know how he’d managed to summon it in the first place, and standing by the side of the road and calling out for a magical wizard bus came with the risk of making him look like an idiot to all the nearby Muggles.

He supposed he could go back to the playground and ask to borrow the woman’s cellphone. No one in his family owned one, of course, but he had George’s number memorized. George was way smarter than him; he’d probably know what to do.

Of course, then he’d have to explain what he was doing in a different country, and that wasn’t a conversation that Dream wanted to have over the phone.

He heard footsteps behind him. Figuring it was just another neighborhood Muggle kid, he didn’t even bother to glance over his shoulder.

The footsteps stopped.

“...Selwyn?”

Dream turned around and met the icy blue stare of none other than Justine Minx herself.

“Minx?”

His Housemate immediately crossed her arms and shot him a glare. “What the _fuck_ are ye doin’ ‘ere, ye cunt?”

Dream stood up and dusted his robes off before replying. “Looking for your address, actually. No one around here seems to know where the hell it is, by the way, so—”

Dream abruptly stopped talking when he suddenly noticed the giant brick mansion that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere behind Minx.

Minx raised an eyebrow at him. “D’you see it now?”

Dream nodded dumbly. “Uh...yeah.”

“Ye didn’t think we’d be livin’ in the middle of a Muggle neighborhood without concealment charms, did ye?”

Dream looked between the house and Minx several times, confused. “I thought Muggle-repellant charms only prevent _Muggles_ from seeing the house, though.”

“Ours repel anyone who hasn’t been acknowledged by someone in our family,” Minx explained impatiently. “I’ve acknowledged ye, so ye can see the house now.”

Dream nodded in understanding and began walking up the path that led to the front door. He only made it a few steps before Minx tugged violently on his arm and sent him flying backwards onto the lawn.

“Oi! Ye’ve been _acknowledged,_ not fuckin’ invited over for tea!” she spat, putting her hands on her hips for emphasis. “Now tell me what the _fuck_ yer doin’ here so you can leave as soon as fuckin possible.”

Dream got to his feet and stumbled towards her, intent on snapping back at her, but a little nagging voice in the back of his head made him hesitate. He was suddenly reminded of their fight in the Slytherin common room from a few months ago when she’d called him a hypocrite and he’d called her a bitch.

It had been a nasty exchange. Minx was _definitely_ still pissed at him over the whole thing, which was fine by Dream. He was still mad at her, too.

 _You’re only mad because she made a good point,_ the traitorous voice in his head piped up.

No. No matter how annoying the voices in his brain got, Minx was still a major bitch. That was an undeniable fact.

_Focus, dumbass. The owl._

Dream cleared his throat. "Uh, well, you— I came because your owl—"

Minx didn’t let him finish.

"Have _you_ been the one sendin ‘im back to me?!" she screeched, eyes suddenly wide with frenzied fury. Before Dream could say anything else, the girl marched up to him and yanked him forward by his collar. "I've been tryin so fuckin hard to apologize, you prick! Do you know how much shit my family’s been givin’ me because I keep hoardin’ the fuckin owl because _your_ fuckin overprotective arse keeps interceptin my letters?!"

Dream made a noise of frustration and tugged his shirt away from Minx’s grip. "Okay, first of all, _no_ , I _haven't_ been the one returning your stupid owl," he snapped. "That was all George."

"Bullshit," she hissed. "He's not a fuckin illogical moron. He would've at _least_ acknowledged one of my apologies by now if it weren’t for your meddlin’ arse."

Dream scoffed. "What, so because he's not accepting apologies from a _racist_ he's illogical?"

"Stop actin all fuckin high and mighty, _Selwyn_ , that's not what I fuckin _said!"_ Tears were welling up in her eyes. "I'm not expectin’ fuckin forgiveness anytime soon, alright? Maybe not fuckin ever, but I...I just need him to _know_."

Dream opened his mouth, but found that he didn't really know what to say in response to that.

As much as he wanted to deny it and say that ignoring her was George’s decision alone, Minx was right. He _was_ responsible for George acting extra harshly towards her.

Luckily, their conversation was interrupted and Dream was spared the effort of having to come up with a reply.

"Justine?! Who the fuck are ye yellin at over there?!" a voice called from inside the house. From his position on the front lawn, Dream could see the top of someone’s head through one of the mansion’s open windows.

"None of yer fuckin business!" Minx yelled back, swiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her robe.

"Doesn't fuckin _sound_ like nobody,” the voice answered. “Ye don't ave a lot goin for ye, Justine. Don't be a blood traitor _and_ a liar! Ye gotta pick a struggle!"

Minx froze as the voice cackled at its own joke. She shook it off quickly, though, leading Dream to conclude that heckling was a common occurrence in the Minx family.

One thing did strike him as odd, however, and that was the casual use of the term _blood traitor._ Dream couldn’t even remember the last time he’d heard anyone use the phrase in conversation who wasn’t a History professor.

Being a blood traitor just wasn't a 'thing' anymore. Ever since the war ended, the term had become antiquated. It was one of those things he only ever came across in textbooks or overheard his parents murmuring to each other about late at night. Dream wasn’t _stupid;_ he knew as well as anyone that if it weren’t for mixed marriages wizards would have died out already. That was why no one used the phrase seriously anymore, or so he’d thought.

The genuine way a member of Minx’s own family had just thrown out the term was putting everything Dream had thought he’d known into question.

His attention was once again brought back to the present situation when Minx groaned and flipped the mystery person off.

"Oi, wouldja shut the fuck up?" she snapped. “I’m fuckin _busy.”_

"Oh, don’t be a wagon, Justine. Tell me who de feck you're blatherin' ter an' i'll leave yer alone.” There was a pause, then, and Dream wondered if the mystery person intended on coming outside.

He shot Minx a questioning glance and opened his mouth to speak. “Who’s th—”

The voice cut him off. "Oh my god, wait, is that yer fuckin mudblood boyfriend?!"

"Shut _UP_!" Minx screamed, enraged.

"Oh my _god_ , it totally is, innit?!" There was a loud crashing sound just then as the front door to the manor swung open. Dream watched as a tall girl with winged eyeliner stepped outside.

The two girls were clearly sisters. The older one — at least five years older, if Dream had to guess — had bright pink hair and the same startling blue eyes as Minx. She eyed Dream up and down with something akin to excitement, which made the Slytherin boy immediately feel uncomfortable. After a moment of gawking, however, her face fell.

"I was ‘opin to see the boytoy with me own eyes,” she said sourly. “This isn’t it."

Minx was seething. "No, it isn't _him_ ," she snapped. "Now can I fuckin finish here?!"

"Don't be _rude_ ," the girl scoffed, shooting Dream an unimpressed look before turning back to her younger sister. "So ye've already moved on from mudbloods? This lad looks like a _proper_ wizard, at least."

Dream's eyes widened at both the repeated use of a racial slur _and_ the implication that he and Minx were anything resembling a couple.

"We're definitely _not_ a thing," he spluttered. “I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.”

“Ditto, you cunt!” Minx shot back.

The older girl’s eyebrows perked up at the sound of Dream’s voice.

"Oi, was that a fuckin American accent?” she gasped. “Did ye fuckin bag _Selwyn's_ kid, Justine?! Talk about an _upgrade_!"

Minx stomped her foot and pointed a threatening finger at her sister’s face. " _Jennifer,_ I swear to the Sacred Twenty-Eight, if ye don't go away right fuckin now—"

"Then _what_?" she challenged, folding her arms across her chest. "Ye two ave been standin ‘ere yellin at each other like a pair of fuckin idiots for way too long. How about ye stop bein’ a twat and let yer new boyfriend in so we can meet ‘im, yeah? Mum’ll be bloody thrilled."

And that was how Dream wound up having tea with Minx’s family in their manor in Portmarnock on a summer afternoon.

“My, my, what a pleasant surprise!” the woman who Dream had been introduced to as Minx’s mother exclaimed upon seeing Dream walk into her living room. “I didn’t know you were friends with Selwyn’s son, Justine!”

Minx scowled. “I’m _not.”_

“Yeah, Mum, they’re _more_ than friends,” Jennifer supplied deviously as she shut the door behind them. Mrs. Minx clapped her hands delightedly and gestured for everyone to take a seat on the extravagant green sofas around the unlit fireplace.

“I’ll have the elves prepare us some tea,” she announced. “Any preferences, Clay, dear?”

Dream awkwardly cleared his throat and shook his head. “Uh, actually, I really shouldn’t be—”

“Oh, nonsense,” Mrs. Minx cut him off dismissively. “I’m sure yer father won’t mind if you stay for a little while. Miffy!”

A House-elf clad in a torn pillowcase apparated into the room and bowed its head respectfully.

“Y-yes, Madame Minx?” it stuttered.

“Fetch us a pot o’ that new blend William brought back from South America. Remember to bring the sugar dish!”

The House-elf disapparated with a soft _pop,_ leaving Dream alone in the room with the three Minx women. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably and busied himself with mentally cataloguing the living room interior.

“Admirin’ the decor?” Mrs. Minx asked, following his gaze. “This house was built more than four hundred years ago, ye know. Over there on the far wall is a portrait of me great-great-great grandfather.”

“Oh, uh...nice,” Dream commented awkwardly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Minx bury her face in her hands.

“We ‘ave a tapestry above the fireplace,” Minx’s mother continued cheerfully, “but, of course, ye know all about tapestries.”

Dream nodded. Family tapestries were an ancient pureblood tradition; the Selwyns brought theirs with them wherever they moved. His family’s tapestry was hanging in their own living room back in England.

Miffy and another elf soon returned with a steaming pot of tea and a tray of scones. Dream picked at his fingers while he waited for his teacup to be placed on the coffee table in front of him, only glancing up when one of the elves asked him if he’d like any sugar or milk with his drink.

“Ye take sugar?” Mrs. Minx remarked with a smile. “Just like yer father. He’s always had a sweet tooth ever since he was a wee lad.” The Irish woman’s smile was so fond it made Dream want to gag. He wrinkled his nose and pushed the sugar tray away.

“On second thought, I’ll just take the milk,” he informed Miffy.

The room descended into stiff silence as everyone sipped their drinks. Dream noted how the Minx women gripped their teacups with elegantly curled fingers and raised pinkies, looking like the picture of pureblood perfection. He was reminded of the extravagant parties his mother used to throw at their house in Florida when he was a kid.

After what felt like an eternity of silent sipping, Mrs. Minx cleared her throat and looked interestedly at Dream.

“Clay,” she began curiously, “if ye don’t mind me asking, what brings ye to Ireland? Justine rarely ‘as friends over.”

 _I’m investigating your involvement in a fucked up pureblood cult,_ he thought to himself.

Out loud, he said, “I hadn’t heard from, uh, _Justine_ in a while, so I came to check on her.”

Minx glared at him. Her mother, on the other hand, looked delighted.

“How lovely!” she exclaimed happily, turning to her older daughter. “Jenny, isn’t that just lovely?”

Jennifer nodded and smirked at her sister. “Aye, Mum, it’s incredible.”

Minx rolled her eyes. “Selwyn actually has to leave,” she grumbled. “So ye should probably say yer goodbyes and—”

“Oh, shush, Justine, let the boy stay, will ye?” her mom interrupted exasperatedly. “At least let ‘im finish his tea.”

Dream self-consciously brought the teacup to his lips and took another few sips, silently regretting his refusal of the sugar but feeling too stubborn to ask for any. He set the beverage back down and eyed Jennifer’s pink hair curiously, a question suddenly occurring to him.

“Hey, Jennifer,” he began, “how old are you?”

Minx’s older sister looked surprised by the question, but smiled nonetheless. “Nineteen,” she answered, then added, “much too old for ye, I’m afraid.”

Dream spluttered, his cheeks warming in embarrassment at the implication. “N-no, I wasn’t—”

“Jenny, mind yer manners,” Mrs. Minx scolded lightly, her lips curling into a hint of a smile.

Jennifer chuckled and took a sip from her own teacup before apologizing. “Sorry, Clay. Why’d ye ask?”

“Well,” Dream said, “I was wondering why I haven’t seen you before. You know, at Hogwarts. You only graduated, what, last year?”

The teasing smile instantly slipped from the older girl’s face at the question. When Dream looked over at Mrs. Minx, he saw that the woman’s demeanor had suddenly become considerably more on-edge.

Puzzled by the strange response, Dream bit his lip and began to backtrack. “Uh, sorry, did I say something—?”

“She went to Durmstrang,” Minx piped up from her place on the sofa.

Jennifer and her mother suddenly snapped out of whatever tense trance they had been in and settled back into their seats, leaving Dream confused about what had just occurred.

“Yes, William and I decided on the Durmstrang Institute for our eldest,” Mrs. Minx supplied, glancing at Jenny oddly. “Education is more structured in Bulgaria.”

“Oh,” Dream said. “But why—?”

A firm hand on his shoulder stopped him from asking the rest of his question. When Dream turned his head, he came face to face with a very annoyed looking Minx.

“Are ye done with yer tea, _Clay?”_ she asked through gritted teeth. When Dream nodded, his Housemate stood up and yanked him to his feet.

“Thanks for the tea, Mum!” she said to her mother with a forced smile while pushing Dream out into the hallway. “It was fuckin’ wonderful. Bye, now!”

“Justine! Mind yer—”

“Language, yes, sorry! I meant it was _feckin’_ wonderful!”

Dream soon found himself pulled around a corner and led down a dark, portrait-lined hallway. Some of the people in the paintings tried to make conversation with them as they passed, but Minx shut each of them up with a well-aimed middle finger. When she and Dream were far enough away from the living room to be out of earshot, the Slytherin girl pushed him roughly against the wall and held her wand up to his throat.

“What the _hell,_ Minx—”

“ _Fuck you,_ Selwyn!” Minx hissed, pressing her wand tip painfully into Dream’s neck. “Ye barge into _my_ fuckin house and have tea with _my_ fuckin mother and then start fucking _interrogating—”_

“Oh, please,” Dream spat, shoving the girl away. “You know I couldn’t just say no! It’s not like I _wanted_ to meet your stupid—”

“Careful with what you say next, Selwyn, because I will not hesitate to hex you where you stand.”

Dream rolled his eyes but didn’t finish his sentence. He waited for Minx to lower her wand before speaking again.

“I’ll happily get the hell away from here if you just answer a few questions,” he said evenly.

“Ye’ve got a lot o’ nerve.”

When Minx didn’t protest further, Dream took a deep breath and stared directly into her icy blue eyes.

“Were you the one who attacked Techno and Karl when we were eleven?”

Several beats of tense silence.

Finally, Minx blinked twice and shook her head. “ _What?”_

“I _said_ —” Dream started to repeat himself, but stopped when Minx abruptly turned away from him and punched the opposite wall with her fist.

“Fuckin’ hell, Selwyn,” she muttered under her breath. Dream noticed that she was trembling, but he couldn’t tell if it was from nerves or barely suppressed rage.

He stood a little taller. “Well? Were you?”

After a few more moments, Minx turned around to face him, her gaze accusatory.

“Who the fuck told you.”

Dream’s cool expression twisted into something dark and furious at her words, at the _admission_ that she’d put his friends on a goddamn hit list. That she’d put _George_ on a goddamn hit list. That she’d tried to _hurt George—_

“You _bitch,”_ Dream spat venomously, his voice dripping with hatred. “I knew it. I fucking _knew_ it. You racist, evil, wicked—”

“It was Schlatt, wasn’t it?” Minx interrupted unflinchingly, her voice just as furious as Dream’s own. “He never woulda sold me out, Selwyn. How could you take advantage of his curse like that? How could you fucking _hurt_ him like that?”

“I didn’t do shit to Schlatt,” Dream retorted. “I didn’t need to. I figured you out all on my own.”

“Ha!” Minx laughed humorlessly. “You eejit! Ye didn’t figure out _shite._ Ye probably just saw my name on something in yer daddy’s office and jumped to a billion fuckin’ conclusions.”

“The _right_ conclusions.”

“Oh, really, Selwyn?”

“You just _admitted—”_

“Would ye just stop an’ _think_ for a minute?” Minx exclaimed, stomping her foot for emphasis. “Techno and that Hufflepuff kid were hit with a Draught of Living Death and stunned. Do I look like some fuckin’ child prodigy who’s been dueling and brewing potions since I was eleven?”

Dream shook his head. “There are a million ways you could have accessed the potion, so don’t pull that crap.”

Minx groaned and rubbed her temples in frustration. “God, how is anyone friends with you? Yer stupid, annoyin, and a damn hypocrite.”

“A hypocrite? I would _never_ use the M-word _or_ attack my friends, unlike _some other_ people.”

“Selwyn. Clay. Dream. Whatever the fuck you go by nowadays,” Minx seethed. “Go home and snoop through yer daddy’s office again and find the fuckin’ plannin’ documents. When ye do, ye’ll see that I was under the fuckin’ _Imperius curse.”_

Dream scoffed. “Yeah, like I believe that.”

Minx rolled her eyes. “I don’t have any respect for ye, Selwyn, an’ I’m not gonna waste my time tryin to justify myself to a fuckin hypocrite. Get out of this house.”

“Gladly, bitch.”

Dream didn’t have any time to react before Minx aimed a swift kick between his legs. In an instant, blinding white pain shot through his system and brought him to his knees. He cried out feebly as a wave of nausea hit him full-force and it was all he could do to not curl up in a ball and cry.

“Watch yer mouth,” Minx snapped. “I did some bad shit in Year One, but I had _no choice._ I’m tryin to be better now. You, on the other hand…” Minx paused to bend down closer to Dream’s ear.

“You don’t have an excuse, Dream. Ye have a choice and yer choosin’ _wrong.”_

Satisfied that she’d gotten the last word, Minx turned away from him and began walking back down the hallway. Before she could disappear from view, however, Dream called out for her to stop.

“Wait,” he said. “You’re just gonna leave me here in the hall?”

Minx raised a single eyebrow, unimpressed. “You can see yerself out.”

Dream grimaced, pain still radiating from his groin. “...I _really_ d-don’t want to take the bus in m-my condition, so...uh, can I use y-your Floo?”

Minx groaned. “Fuckin’ hell.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream returned to Caerphilly a week after speaking with Minx.

He hadn’t wanted to go to the lab, of course, but his father insisted that the W.A.P. could use extra help with specimen tagging. His dad’s colleagues were apparently very busy with a new shipment of creatures brought back from an expedition to the Caucasus Mountains.

“You really must see these creatures, boys,” Mr. Selwyn told him and Schlatt as they grabbed handfuls of Floo powder. “They’re called _Pantasma_ by the locals, but we’ve dubbed them Phantoms. Right fascinating things, they are.”

“That sounds awesome, Sir,” Schlatt replied enthusiastically as Dream’s dad stepped into the green flames of their fireplace.

Dream let Schlatt go ahead of him. Once his roommate was through the flames, Dream hesitated before tossing in his own handful of Floo powder.

He really didn’t want to go back to the laboratory.

He stood before the green flames for a moment and contemplated just staying back. He’d get in trouble for it, he knew, but it wasn’t like his dad could force him through the Floo.

_He could Imperius you. Y’know, like Minx’s parents did…_

No. Minx _had_ to have been lying. That curse was illegal, and there was no way one of her parents would risk time in Azkaban for casting it on their own daughter. The mere thought of it was ridiculous, Dream knew, and yet…

There was a tiny part of him that couldn’t let the thought go.

“W.A.P. Headquarters,” he said, stepping into the fire with a heavy heart.

The laboratory in Caerphilly looked the same as he remembered it. Dozens of Ministry officials in white robes rushed from room to room carrying variouses pieces of equipment in their hands. Dream did a double take when he saw one of his father’s colleagues carrying a cage containing what appeared to be a tiny humanoid pig. He wanted to follow the person into the next specimen room but was stopped when he heard his name being called from somewhere to his left.

“Dream!” Schlatt called out, waving the blond over. “We’re in here, buddy.”

Resolving to get a look at the other new creatures later, Dream followed his roommate into one of the specimen tagging chambers. Upon stepping through the doorway he was struck with the sight of about twenty-odd stingrays flopping around inside a large glass enclosure.

“Woah,” he said, pressing a hand up against the glass. “Did Dad bring these back from Florida?”

Schlatt shot him a questioning look. “What?”

“These stingrays,” Dream explained. “There were a ton of them in Florida.”

“These aren’t stingrays, Clay,” a voice said from around the corner. A few seconds later, Mr. Selwyn stepped into view, a pair of dragon hide gloves on his hands.

Dream eyed the creatures again curiously. “They look like stingrays.”

“ _These,_ ” his dad emphasized, reaching a hand into the glass box and firmly grasping one of the squirming creatures by its tail, “are adolescent Phantoms, freshly-retrieved from Azerbaijan.”

Dream and Schlatt both watched the alchemist as he expertly flipped the Phantom over to expose its pale white abdomen. It hissed and flapped its dark blue appendages in protest.

“Observe, boys.”

With clinical precision, Dream’s father retrieved a scalpel from his equipment box and swiftly sliced off the very tips of each blue wing. The Phantom let out a screech of what could only be pain as a pale white goo oozed from the wounds. For a brief moment, its neon green eyes stared directly into Dream’s own, making the boy’s heart skip a beat in his chest.

Then the creature’s eyes closed and it went limp in his father’s arms.

Dream’s jaw dropped in shock. “Is it _dead?”_ he demanded. His dad waved him off dismissively.

“No, no, don’t be foolish. It is merely unconscious.”

“Why did you cut it up like that?!”

Schlatt stepped forward and peered more closely at the amputated wing segments. “Are you sending these to the magibiologists?” he asked.

“Exactly,” Selwyn confirmed with a nod, turning to Dream. “Phantom membranes are rumored to possess levitational properties. By clipping the creature’s wings we are able to both control its movement and collect samples for further research.

“But…” Dream trailed off, eyes still wide with surprise. “D-doesn’t it hurt them?”

Selwyn shrugged. “Perhaps. But the pain is momentary. It will be unable to fly effectively for a few weeks, but Phantom membranes grow back.”

Schlatt hummed in acknowledgement and drummed his fingers against the flat surface of the operating table. “Are we gonna tag all of ‘em today?”

“Enthusiastic, I see,” Mr. Selwyn remarked with a smirk. “We can certainly try, Jebediah. Spare gloves should be in the cupboard behind you.”

Schlatt quickly shuffled over to the cupboard and retrieved two extra pairs of gloves, setting them on the table next to the glass enclosure. Dream felt sick to his stomach.

“Now,” Selwyn instructed, gesturing to a set of surgical tools in front of them. “I find it best to use traditional scalpels for incisions such as these, but—”

“I’m gonna throw up,” Dream gasped suddenly. His hands began to tremble.

His father barely glanced at him before rolling his eyes. “Come now, Clay, no need for dramatics. Put your gloves on.”

“N-no,” Dream stuttered. “I-I can’t.”

“C’mon, Dream,” Schlatt mumbled, nudging the pair of gloves closer to the blond. “Just put ‘em on.”

Dream shook his head and took several steps back towards the door.

 _“Clay,”_ his father said in a warning tone.

Dream blinked several times when his eyes began to water. “I _can’t.”_

“You can and you will. This is no way for an almost fourteen-year-old young man to behave.”

Dream looked once more at his dad, then at Schlatt, then at the glass container full of wiggling Phantoms. Then he ran.

“Wait, Dream—”

“Let him, Jebediah,” he heard his dad say as he bolted for the door. “I’ll sort him out later.”

Dream speed-walked through the halls of the W.A.P., white-robed figures passing by him in a blur of motion and sound. He couldn’t focus on anything except for the crystal-clear image of the Phantom’s pained green gaze burned into his brain.

He didn’t mean to stop in front of Observation Room 1, but that was where his legs carried him.

He glanced around briefly to make sure no one was watching. When the coast felt clear enough, he pushed the door open and ducked inside.

It was just as dark as it had been last time. The windowless room was empty and cold and just as eerie as Dream remembered it. He hesitated by the door before finally mustering up the courage to take several steps forward.

He cleared his throat.

“Randolph?”

He waited for some noise or movement to alert him of the other boy’s presence, but there was no response. Guilt swirled in the pit of his stomach as he remembered the documents he’d photographed several months prior.

_No signs of controllable magic. Termination recommended._

He walked up to the glass pane and pressed his nose against the transparent barrier, eyes searching the darkness for the faint glow of purple particles.

Nothing.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that a piece of paper had been fixed to the wall several feet away. His eyes could barely make out the words inked on its surface, but after a few moments of squinting he deduced that it was a log of some sorts.

_02/5: Enderman Study № 3 Subject #00029 transferred to C.R.2. for termination._

_08/5: Enderman Study № 3 Subject #00034 arrival._

_30/:5 Enderman Study № 3 Subject #00034 transferred to C.R.2. for termination._

Several more entries were listed, but Dream tore his eyes away after reading the first three lines. He slid to the ground slowly, his knees suddenly unable to support his weight.

_Terminated. Eleven years old. Your fault your fault your fault—_

Tears streamed down his face and dampened the front of his robes. His frame began to shake with silent sobs.

_Fucking hypocrite._

It was several hours before his dad found him alone in that same observation room and angrily pulled him to his feet. Dream said nothing on the way home. He didn’t even protest when his dad forbade him from seeing George until September.

When he fell asleep that night, Randolph Boo haunted his dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Dream,_

_What’s happened to you? I haven’t seen you in a week. I hope Ruby is able to get through your window without being intercepted — I know this has something to do with your dad and I would hate for him to keep this letter from you. Please let me know you’re alright. I’m worried._

_Sincerely,_

_George_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_hey gogi,_

_im good my dad just grounded me becuz hes stupid. wont be able to see u 4 a while. sorry_

_tell ur mom i miss her lemonade_

_-d_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Dream,_

_Your insistence on writing like an illiterate seven-year-old continues to baffle me. Is it an American thing (like how you spell “colour” wrong) or is it just a Dream thing?_

_I’m sorry to hear that I won’t be seeing much of you. Why are you being punished, though?_

_Mum says thanks. I filled a plastic water bottle with some of her lemonade and am tying it to Ruby’s foot. She doesn’t seem too pleased about that, but it’s only a short flight so she should be able to make it._

_Best,_

_George_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_gogi,_

_thanx 4 da lemonade, u r da best and i luv u. my bday iz in a few weeks and i want a lifetime supply of dis stuff. also ruby iz a bich cuz she bit me when i tried 2 untie da bottle_

_♥_

_-d_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Dream,_

_Stop riting lyke an ideeut pleez its very anoyin and it hertz mi eyez_

_That took way more time to write than actual English, which convinces me you write like that for the sole purpose of annoying me. If that isn’t the most Slytherin thing in the world I don’t know what is, you stubborn git._

_Mrs. Huckson has invited me to accompany her family on holiday to Spain as her nanny. All I have to do is watch over five small children and I get a free holiday!_ And _I’ll get paid! My mum is really pleased even if it makes her jealous._

 _Unfortunately, I won’t be able to write for a while because I’ll be surrounded by Muggles. Can’t exactly summon an owl from a Spanish villa. I’m attaching the recipe for Mum’s lemonade to this letter so you can force your_ _slave_ _House-elf to make it for you._

_See you in September! Miss you loads._

_Love,_

_George_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The start of a new school year had always been exciting for George.

The first day of September always marked the start of something wonderful. The arrival of autumn brought with it the promise of magic and opportunity and a long-awaited reunion with his Hogwarts friends.

George was _especially_ excited for his fourth year, however. An entire summer spent working odd jobs had left him counting down the days until he could finally board the Hogwarts Express and leave the boring babysitting gigs behind.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate his summer jobs; on the contrary, he was extremely grateful for his kind Muggle neighbors who’d hired him without a second thought after his dad lost his job. It was just that lawn mowing and babysitting were stressful activities. He was eager to return to the much preferred feelings of stress that came along with normal things like friends and schoolwork.

“Goodbye, Georgie!” George's mum called out as she waved goodbye to him from the driver’s seat of the family car. George waved back, not dropping his hand until the vehicle sped off and out of his sight.

He told himself that he didn’t mind having to lug his things onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters all on his own. His mum was busy with two different jobs; the fact that she’d even had time to drop him off in the first place was a miracle. Still, he felt the tiniest pang in his chest as he wheeled a trolley full of magical stuff through King’s Cross. The odd looks from the Muggles around him were much harder to ignore without his parents by his side.

He didn’t hesitate when it came time to run full speed into the brick wall between the ninth and tenth platforms. It surprised him how much easier that part of the journey had become. He’d defied the laws of physics so often that phasing through walls didn’t startle him anymore, although he suspected there would always be a tiny Muggle part of him that worried he would grievously injure himself. He hadn’t yet, however.

On the other side of the wall George was met with a thick crowd of parents hugging their children goodbye and students reuniting after months spent apart. Gripping the handles of his trolley, he weaved through the throngs of people in search of a part of the platform that wasn't cramped and suffocating.

Idly, he wondered if there was some sort of friend-finding charm cast on the platform. How else was he always able to find his friends so easily?

Just as that thought occurred to him, he heard the familiar whining voice of one of his roommates.

" _Please_ don't make me go! I'm sick!” cried an overdramatic Wilbur Soot from somewhere behind him in the crowd. “I've got a fever so high you could brew a potion on my forehead!"

George swiveled his head back and forth but couldn’t seem to spot the curly-haired boy. After what felt like an eternity of craning his neck, he leaned against his trolley and decided to wait until the voices came to _him._

"Your temperature's fine," drawled an off-puttingly deep — yet oddly familiar? — voice in response.

"It said ninety-eight point five on your heat measurer! That's _high_!"

"For the last time, it was on Fahrenheit. And that's the _normal temperature for a human bein’_. I proved it to you, I took my _own_ temperature and it was the same as yours!"

George furrowed his brows in thought, wondering who on earth Wilbur was talking to.

"See?” he heard his roommate retort, “I've given you my illness too! We're both sick now! We have to call your mum to pick us up now before we get everyone else sick as well!"

"If you want a temperature so bad, maybe I should just set you on _fire_. Will that make you happy?”

The two voices went silent for a moment before the one belonging to Wilbur groaned loudly. "Ugh, this is going to be the worst year _ever_!"

"C'mon, Wil, quit bein' dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic! Since when have _I_ ever been dramatic?!"

"I've never known you to be reasonable a day in your life."

A tell-tale head of pink hair emerged from the crowd, causing George’s eyebrows to shoot up in surprise. "Techno?!" he called out, waving the quidditch player over with one hand.

As Techno approached him with Wilbur in tow, George could barely believe his eyes. The boy he shared a room with the year before had grown what looked like a full head in height and gained a voice as deep as a bullfrog’s. If it weren’t for the pink ponytail, George doubted he would have even recognized him.

Techno smiled and pointed at George teasingly. "Oh hey, George!” he greeted him before turning to Wilbur. “Look Wil, it's George! He hasn't heard all about how hard and sad your life is yet, you should tell 'im all about it."

Wilbur immediately threw his arms around George and rested his head on his shoulder with a sigh, something that probably looked quite silly given that Wilur was a whole foot taller than him. George shot Techno a questioning glance before giving Wilbur a few hesitant pats on the back.

“Uh...there, there, Wilbur,” George said awkwardly as Wilbur tightened the embrace. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s _horrible,”_ Wilbur replied, sniffling dramatically. “Everything is horrible.”

“Why’s that?”

Wil let go of George in order to look him dead in the eyes. “Because I’ve met the love of my life, George.”

Behind Wilbur, Techno facepalmed. George adjusted his glasses and pursed his lips, unsure of whether or not Wilbur was doing a bit.

“Erm...alright? Isn’t that...good?” George questioned when Wilbur didn’t elaborate.

The curly-haired boy shook his head and placed one hand over his eyes theatrically. “No! It isn’t _good_ , Gogi! How could it be good when it’s causing me so much agony?”

“You’ll see her in three months.” Techno said with a roll of his eyes.

“Exactly! Three entire months until we can be together again!” Wilbur cried, his tone one of anguish.

“Who’s ‘she?’” George asked.

“She is beauty. She is grace. She is the most magnificent creature to ever roam this wretched earth—”

“She’s Tommy’s babysitter,” Techno cut in, clamping a hand over Wil’s mouth and stopping his dramatic monologue. Wil wrenched the pink-haired boy’s hand away and took an indignant step backwards.

“Please, Techno, do _not_ interrupt my soliloquy with talk of that gremlin child.”

George raised an eyebrow at Wil’s impressive display of melodrama. “So...you fancy someone’s babysitter?”

Wilbur huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “No, George _,_ I do not _fancy a babysitter._ I am _in love_ with the most delightful woman in existence.”

“She thinks your name is Willy,” Techno said in a deadpan voice.

“It’s an adoring nickname that she alone has bestowed upon me!”

“She’s _three years_ older than you—”

“Two years and ten months!”

“She’s a _Muggle_ who you can’t tell about magic _—”_

“Love knows no boundaries!”

“She has the _ugliest_ salmon tattoo on her shoulder—”

“ _Silence!”_ Wilbur shouted, clamping his own hands over his ears. “I will not stand here while you besmirch the good name of my beloved! I am _leaving.”_

George put a hand on Wilbur’s arm, stopping him before he could storm off. “It’s okay, Wilbur. I promise I won’t take the piss,” he assured his roommate. “I’m sure this girl is lovely.”

“Oh _god,”_ Techno groaned, “I’m gettin’ on the train. Feel free to join me when you get tired of this lovesick fool.”

Techno soon disappeared from view, leaving George alone with Wilbur on the platform as they waited for their other friends to arrive.

“Oh, Gogi, she’s _incredible,”_ Wilbur gushed, eyes staring off into the distance. “She makes me want to compose symphonies and write sonnets. She’s just stunning...if she weren’t a Muggle, I might have thought her part Veela.”

“What’s her name?”

Wilbur beamed at the question. “Oh, her name is the most enchanting two-syllable word I’ve ever heard, George. Her name is — wait for it — _Sally.”_

It took all of George’s willpower not to laugh right then and there. Wilbur, apparently oblivious to George’s amusement, kept rambling.

“She's simply _enthralling_! Whenever I consider my life before her, it all seems so dull in comparison. It's like I was seeing the world in grayscale before she came along and brought color into my life! Can you imagine someone like that, Gogi? Someone who can make your world brighter than you could've ever imagined?"

George’s hands automatically reached up to adjust the color correction goggles on his face, a Christmas gift from Dream. His heart began to beat a bit faster for no apparent reason as he shook his head at Wilbur.

“No, sorry,” he muttered.

“Pity,” Wilbur remarked, holding a hand over his heart. “I hope the whole world experiences a love like mine.”

“What’s this about love?”

George turned around instinctively at the sound of the new voice, eyes immediately locking with Dream’s warm green ones.

“Dream!” George exclaimed happily, running up to give his best friend a hug without a second thought. Dream stumbled back a few steps but returned the embrace eagerly.

“Hey, Gog,” he chuckled. “Long time no see.”

“Well _I’ll_ say,” Wilbur commented as he eyed the Slytherin boy up and down. “Have you been drinking growth potions? You’re almost as tall as I am, now.”

Dream scoffed at that. “ _Almost?”_

A loud whistle announced the train’s imminent departure, interrupting the boys before they could get into a full-blown height squabble. They exchanged lighthearted jokes as they followed the crowd of other eager students onto the Hogwarts Express and made the familiar beeline towards their usual compartment.

When they opened the doors, they found Techno, Eret, and Sapnap already happily chatting away inside. Techno winked at George as he shuffled into his favorite window seat.

“Hear enough about Sally?” he asked with a smirk. George couldn’t help but smile when Wilbur huffed indignantly at their roommate’s question.

“Who’s Sally?” Sapnap questioned, looking back and forth between George, Techno, and Wilbur in confusion. Techno groaned and slapped a hand over his face.

“Why d'you always hafta ask the stupidest questions, Nappitus?”

“ _You_ brought it up!”

The train let out another whistle before finally embarking on the long trip through the British hillsides. Eret tilted his head at Dream, a question clearly on his mind.

“Where are Schlatt and Minx?” he asked the Slytherin innocently. Dream and George both tensed at the mention of the Irish girl. Sensing the tension, Sapnap chose that moment to let loose a shockingly loud belch as a distraction.

“What’s _wrong_ with you?” Eret demanded, leaning away from the Gryffindor with a look of disgust on his face.

“Better out than in,” Sapnap shrugged.

Dream snorted at their friend’s childish show of comradery as George silently thanked Sapnap's idiotic quick thinking in his head. The guy had some admittedly horrible ideas, but at least they were effective.

The group slowly devolved into idle chatter after that, not really speaking about anything in particular. Wilbur, for once, seemed to have no anecdotes to share, instead choosing to stare out the window and loudly hum an unfamiliar tune.

At the sound of the melody, Techno sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. Wilbur peeked over his shoulder to look at the rest of the group, but quickly turned back to the window as he realized that George was staring.

“Uh… what are you singing?” George inquired, causing the curly haired boy to pause dramatically, as though startled by a question he was clearly eager to answer.

“Oh! I didn't even realize how loud I was being, that was so rude of me!" He exclaimed without a hint of apology in his tone, "But, well, since you _asked,_ it's actually an _original_ song."

"I can't believe you took the bait," Techno muttered under his breath in disappointment as everyone else in the compartment gasped and leaned forward in their seats.

“It sounds lovely already,” Eret complimented. “Do you have lyrics for it?”

Wilbur puffed out his chest in pride, “Well, I don't mean to _brag_ but yes, lyrics _and_ a formally composed tune!"

Dream whistled appreciatively as Wilbur basked in the praise, waving his hands up and down as though to stifle their awe.

"Yes, yes, you know, I'd _love_ to play it for you guys but— oh wait! Silly me, how could I forget?"

Techno scoffed and rolled his eyes, but no one really noticed. They were all too busy watching as Wil bent over and moved a few things around underneath his seat. After a few moments, he picked up a leather satchel and placed it in his lap.

“What’s in there?” wondered Sapnap.

“Please, gentlemen, let's be patient,” Wilbur grinned. He unclasped the satchel and, to George’s astonishment, proceeded to defy the laws of physics by shoving his entire arm inside of it.

“An extension charm?” George asked. Wilbur nodded.

“Yes, it’s in here _somewhere..._ oh! Got it!”

Everyone other than Techno gasped in surprise when Wilbur pulled a full-sized guitar out of the small leather bag.

“You got a guitar!” Eret exclaimed. “Did you spend all summer studying song charms for it?”

Wilbur smiled and shook his head. “No, my dear Eret, this isn’t an ordinary guitar. This is a _Muggle_ guitar.”

Dream’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “How does it work?”

“You have to play each note with your own fingers!”

Dream and Eret both gaped at the revelation while George, Sapnap, and Techno exchanged glances.

“You mean you don’t use any nonverbal spells to play it?” Eret continued his line of questioning.

“Nope!”

“Not even an amplifying charm?”

“Nope!”

“Not even—”

“Eretson, would you just let him play it already? He's been dyin to show it off to someone that isn't me or his parents the whole summer.” Techno cut him off.

Eret muttered something under his breath but complied and leaned back in his seat, eyes trained on the instrument in his roommate’s hands.

“This song came to me the night after I met the love of my life,” Wilbur informed everyone seriously. “It’s not finished yet, but I think I’ll call it ‘In Love with a Muggle Girl.’”

Wilbur cleared his throat and gave his guitar an experimental strum. The sounds bounced beautifully off the walls of the compartment, and even Techno seemed to forget that he was supposed to appear annoyed by it. They all listened eagerly as Wilbur began to deftly strum a delightful rift with his fingers. After several beats, he began to sing.

_“Wake up in my lonely bed_

_My darling lives rent-free in my head_

_Think about her as I wake_

_My heart is hers to shield or break…”_

George soon found himself lulled into a trance, unable to look away from the boy with the guitar.

_“She’s beauty, she’s grace_

_She has the voice of an angel and a very fine girl’s face_

_Just a single word exchanged_

_My life on earth’s been rearranged…”_

Techno rolled his eyes at the sappy lyrics, but George could tell he was enjoying the performance. It was impossible _not_ to enjoy it — Wilbur’s voice was mesmerizing.

_“I wanna be the guy who you give all of your pens to,_

_Meanwhile I’ll use my magic to impress you._

_‘Cause I like you,_

_And my twelve-inch wand’s impressive_

_Let’s skip to the good bit_

_And make this song a little more suggestive…”_

“Wait, what?” Sapnap laughed only to be immediately shushed by everyone else. Wilbur, unbothered, continued to sing.

_“I’m in love with a_

_I’m in love with a_

_I’m in love with a_

_With a Muggle girl._

_I’m in love with a_

_I’m in love with a_

_I’m in love with a_

_With a Muggle girl.”_

Wilbur’s fingers ceased their rhythmic strumming. The final notes of the song eventually faded into the background, leaving only the chugging of the train to fill the silence.

Sapnap spoke up again. “Dude. That is one lucky Muggle girl.”

Wil smiled bashfully and flicked a stray curl away from his face. “Thanks, Sappitus.”

“How did you learn to play like that? To _sing_ like that?” Eret marvelled, face alight with astonishment.

Wilbur shrugged. “It’s easy when one has a muse—"

“Stop, stop right there” Techno hurriedly piped up, shooting Wil a stern glare. "If you go on one more spiel about this girl I'm gonna blow up you, your guitar, the train, and myself. Please. This pinin’ has been my whole summer.”

They all shared in a laugh as Techno insisted that he wasn't joking and Wilbur put his guitar away. Soon, the small talk had resumed and they all relaxed into their seats, just enjoying each others’ company.

Dream nudged George in the side. “Tired?” he asked, green eyes crinkling at the corners.

“No,” George lied, resisting the urge to yawn. “What gave you that impression?”

“You’ve got bags under your eyes.”

George rubbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his robe as if the gesture would wipe his exhaustion away. “Alright, yes,” he admitted sheepishly. “I had to wake up early to run a final errand before leaving with Mum.”

“Sheesh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat. Dream pursed his lips, seemingly thinking something over.

“If you need to take a nap or something,” he began, glancing off to the side momentarily before looking at George once more, “I’m pretty comfy, I think.”

George snorted. “What?”

“Oh, come on, George,” he groaned, elbowing the Ravenclaw gently in the ribs. “I’m offering you my services.”

George was about to ask Dream what he meant when it suddenly hit him what his best friend was suggesting. His instinct was to huff and immediately decline the offer; his face heated up at the thought of using Dream as a pillow. But then again…

He _was_ pretty tired. And Dream’s shoulder did look inviting.

Before he could think better of it, George scooted closer to Dream and tentatively rested his head on the other boy’s shoulder. Dream immediately shuffled a bit, rearranging them into a slightly more comfortable position where they could both support each other’s weights and relax.

“Thanks,” George muttered. He felt Dream’s shoulder shake slightly in what might have been a laugh.

“Any time.”

And, before George knew it, the steady chugging of the train soon lulled them both to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm absolutely _starved_!" Sapnap announced as the group trudged up to the castle's front doors on their way to the Great Hall.

Techno couldn’t agree more. His mouth was already watering at the mere thought of the delectable dishes that would undoubtedly be served at the opening banquet that night. Of course, they'd first have to get through the stupid song and the sorting ceremony and the boring speeches, but the reward would be all worth it.

His stomach rumbled as he plopped himself down at the Ravenclaw table along with the rest of his Housemates. He took a deep breath, preparing himself to power through the mind-numbing niceties ahead.

Minutes ticked by agonizingly slowly. Only when all of the teachers were in place and the hat was on its stool did McGonagall finally take the stage. It only took her clearing her throat once for the students to immediately quiet down.

Her speech was just as boring as usual. Techno tuned most of it out, his thoughts drifting idly to Philza. If Philza were in charge, everyone would be eating already.

He felt a sudden pang in his chest at the thought of the former Head Boy. It felt wrong to be sitting at the table without Philza being a few seats away and ready to yell at them playfully for having 'too many fuckin friends that eat all our shit'. Techno didn't even want to know who the new Head Boy was. He probably sucked. Nobody was like Phil.

"-having said that, please give a warm welcome to our new first-years!"

The cheers of the student body snapped Techno out of his thoughts and he gave a half baked clap of his own. Everyone directed their attention to the door through which the first-years would be coming in, waiting to see who their new peers would be.

A second passed. Then two. By the time a full minute had gone by, the cheers had died down and everyone had begun to shift awkwardly in their seats. Someone over at the Hufflepuff table coughed. Wilbur leaned over to fix a crooked utensil near his plate.

McGonagall cleared her throat and glared at the door, but it remained shut.

Murmurs broke out among the student body. Wilbur leaned over and whispered, "What do you think happened?"

Techno shrugged. "Dunno, but if those kids don't show up soon I'm gonna eat my napkin."

After a while the entire hall devolved into loud chattering and McGonagall looked like she was about to hex someone. Before she could cast anything, however, the door finally burst open, stunning the hall into immediate silence.

"We're here, we're here! Don' start anythin’ without us!" Professor Hagrid cried, stumbling into the Great Hall completely soaked from head to toe. A bunch of drenched eleven-year-olds shuffled in right behind him, their shoes squeaking loudly against the floor.

"Professor Hagrid! What on _earth_ have you done to these poor children?!" The headmistress exclaimed, her eyes widening as more first-years filed in. Each one seemed to leave a trail of water in their wakes.

"It wasn' me fault, Headmistress McGonagall! I swear!"

"Then whose fault _was_ it?!" she demanded.

"I— y'see—" he stammered, and Techno couldn't help but feel bad for the poor guy. "It wasn' anyone's fault, really, t'was jus’ a lil' mistake—"

"Ho my god— holy shit, Tubbo, that was fuckin INSANE!" a shrill voice pierced everyone's ears, echoing off the walls of the Great Hall and effectively cutting off both Hagrid's lame excuses and Techno’s ability to breathe.

Now, Technoblade didn't consider himself to be a particularly unlucky person.

In fact, he thought that as far as the average person went, he was probably on the luckier side. He had made a few significant plays against GB80 the year before with the help of luck, as much as he'd like to say that all of his successes on the quidditch pitch were thanks to pure skill. The fact that he’d been able to save Wilbur from being hit by a truck as he walked into traffic while daydreaming about Sally seemed pretty lucky too.

No, Technoblade definitely wasn't an unlucky person. When he heard that familiar earsplitting voice however, he came to the conclusion that his luck must have completely run out.

If it weren’t for Wilbur’s fingers squeezing his arm so hard that his circulation was being cut off, Techno would've thought he was having a nightmare.

But no, not even his own mind was twisted enough to imagine something like this. Only reality could be as cold and cruel as the truth he was being faced with at that moment.

"See, I _knew_ that standing up on those tiny fuckin boats would be a good idea, now we've made our marks as the _cool kids._ All the wizard people will know my name, Tubbo. They'll be— they'll be all like 'Wow, you're so cool, Tommy!' and I'll go— I'll say 'yes, I know, now please direct me towards the nearest woman,’ and then… hoh, then I will get money."

The boy stepped into the Great Hall, his blonde hair matted against his head and arms gesturing wildly as he spoke to a shorter boy beside him. His grin made Wilbur bash his head against Techno’s shoulder in an attempt to knock himself out.

"Y'know, I'm an atheist, but I really can't think of an explanation for this that doesn't just boil down to 'Satan himself has it out for us.’" Techno muttered and Wilbur nodded, making some sort of garbled choking sound that summed up the situation pretty well, in Techno's opinion.

Tommy kept on rambling to his friend, who nodded enthusiastically. Techno's eyes narrowed.

He recognized the other kid, too.

"Him _as well_?!" Wilbur hissed, because of course those two brats were a package deal. Wherever Tommy went, the other kid followed. He distinctly remembered Sally complaining that she should be paid double for the two of them.

"Oh, it will be so epic. Do wizards have wizard museums? I'm gonna be in one. I will be one of those fuckin interactive displays that make sounds n shit—"

" _Excuse_ me!" McGonagall screeched, finally recovering from the initial shock of having an eleven-year-old interrupt her and use profanities as liberally as commas in his sentences.

Tommy paused his chatter to blink up at the headmistress owlishly, only just seeming to notice that the whole castle was staring at him. "Who, me?” he asked innocently, causing Hagrid to groan.

“This is _unacceptable_ behavior!” McGonagall yelled. “Ten poin— _no,_ _TWENTY_ points from—” she cut herself off upon realizing the child before her hadn’t been sorted yet. “—a House we will determine very soon!”

Techno heard Sappitus Nappitus laugh loudly from the Gryffindor table. “This kid is _gold!”_

"Are you two okay?" Eret asked, shooting Techno and Wilbur a concerned look from across the table.

"I'm about to go into cardiac arrest," Wilbur choked out.

"And I'm about ta join you." Techno added.

"Wait, didn't that boy call himself Tommy?" George asked. "As in, _that_ Tommy?!"

"Oh my god," Eret gasped, "It _can't_ be. Wouldn’t you two have noticed his magical abilities?!"

"Please don't start victim-blamin' us now, we're in distress," Techno pleaded.

It took several moments for the student body to reign themselves in enough to allow McGonagall to begin the actual ceremony. After the Sorting Hat sang its stupid song she proceeded to read off the names a tad more forcefully than usual.

“Aagaard, Martin!”

A scrawny-looking kid rushed up to the stool and hurriedly pulled the hat over his eyes. Techno sighed in displeasure when he was declared a Ravenclaw and ushered to their table.

If it were up to Techno, Ravenclaw would stop accepting new recruits completely. He didn’t need any more noisy children running around _his_ common room.

He tried to distract himself by paying attention to the next few names being called, but the looming threat of Tommy and his friend breathing down his neck kept him from fully zoning out. Or maybe that was just Wilbur hyperventilating.

McGonagall cleared her throat and read out the next name on the list. “Bumble, Tobias!”

Tommy’s tiny sidekick eagerly bounced up to the hat, looking like he was about to piss himself out of excitement. The hat seemed to take its time with the kid. Two dread-filled minutes passed in which all Techno could think was _please not Ravenclaw, please for the love of all that is good on this earth._

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

Both Techno and Wilbur breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hey, that was Tommy's friend, right? That means you won't have to deal with one of them, at least," George offered sympathetically.

"Right…. One of them…" Wilbur muttered.

Techno tapped his foot impatiently as more and more names were called. He and Wilbur hadn’t paid so much attention to a sorting ceremony since their own three years prior.

After what felt like hours but was probably something closer to ten minutes, the moment of truth came.

“Nutpig, Thomas!”

Wilbur’s grip on Techno’s arm tightened.

“He’s not clever _or_ creative enough for Ravenclaw, surely,” Wil whispered to him frantically. “Tell me he’s not, Techno. Lie to me if you must.”

Techno tightened his hold on his friend’s arm but didn’t dare tear his eyes away from the blond menace currently walking up to the Sorting Hat. "Of course he's not, Wil," Techno lied, his voice wavering as Tommy took a seat on the stool. He didn't dare let Wilbur know that the boy was a straight A student who was _definitely_ qualified for their house, for fear of actually having to take him to the infirmary.

The Great Hall waited with bated breath for McGonagall to drop the ratty old hat on his head, which she did with a look of disdain on her face.

_Please not Ravenclaw. Please not Ravenclaw. Please not—_

“GRYFFINDOR!”

“YES!” the two Ravenclaw fourth-years cheered in unison, their cries even louder than the noise coming from the Gryffindor table.

"Let's GO!" Screamed Techno, wrapping Wilbur up in the tightest hug he'd ever initiated.

"Oh my god, I think I'm about to cry," Wilbur sighed in relief, hugging him back.

"Erm, congrats?" George said as a prefect hurried to shut them up.

"Thank you, oh my god, he can _never know_ that we’re students here." Wilbur stated firmly.

Techno nodded, "You don't needa tell me twice, I'm already plannin’ on ways we can find out his schedule to avoid him in the hallway."

"Um, not to ruin your good mood, but isn't he going to find out about you as soon as quidditch season starts?" George asked.

Techno paused, his stomach filling with dread. "I'm quittin’ the game," he said decidedly.

"No!"

The ceremony came to a close soon after some kid named _Purpled, Grayson_ joined the Slytherin table. Techno gripped both of his utensils impatiently and glared at his empty plate. He _needed_ to drown out his sorrows in food. Unfortunately for him, though, McGonagall seemed intent on starving them all to death.

“Before we begin the feast,” she announced, prompting many other hungry students to groan in displeasure, “I would like to introduce our newest staff member to you all.”

“ _Another_ new professor?” George hissed.

“Due to increased strain on teachers caused by changes to the curriculum in recent years, I have decided to hire additional staff to assist in daily Hogwarts exercises. Please welcome Phil Watson, our new teaching assistant!”

_No way._

The entire Ravenclaw table erupted in cheers as none other than Philza Magic himself stood up from his place at the High Table and gave everyone a wave. It was hard for Techno to resist the urge to sprint through the hall and throw his arms around the former Head Boy.

“Hello!” Philza greeted everyone cheerfully. “It’s good to be back! I’m lookin’ forward to helping out your professors this year and spending more time with all of you!”

Though the young man addressed his words to the whole crowd, his eyes found Techno’s from all the way across the hall. Before Phil went to sit back down, he shot the boys at the Ravenclaw table a purposeful wink.

The food soon arrived and everyone began stuffing their faces ravenously. The little first-year gremlin child seemed like much less of a problem after Techno got some food in his belly.

Philza was back, which meant the year was off to a great start.

Techno _definitely_ wasn’t an unlucky person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS OMG can you believe there is a GLITCH on AO3 where some people who _think_ they've left kudos have actually been UN-KUDOSED? It's crazy! I trust that you _are_ kudosed, but do me a favor and just scroll down and check to see ;) 
> 
> Hope you liked the update! As always, your comments give me life. I literally cannot tell you guys the number of times I've felt sad and uninspired only to get a comment email and instantly feel better. It's hard to reply to all of 'em but trust me when I say that I read and smile at every single one.
> 
> See y'all next update!
> 
> Links to socials:  
> [ken's tumblr](kangarooken.tumblr.com)  
> [grass' tumblr](extragrassydetails.tumblr.com)  
> [ken's twitter](https://twitter.com/KangarooKenn)  
> [grass' twitter](https://twitter.com/seedlessgrass)  
> [grass' insta](https://www.instagram.com/seedlessgrass/)


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